Rosier at Rosings
by Sophie Rae
Summary: Georgiana accompanies Darcy on his annual trip to Rosings. As a friendship between Elizabeth and she blossoms, new problems arise and new faces appear. The two young women must learn to trust their hearts, rather than their minds, or be doomed to repeat their past mistake. Complete. Repost from different account.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Though she be gone and her copyright claims too, I must give my due to the inestimable Miss Austen for her talents not a few. (Sorry in the mood for a rhyme.)_

Prologue

It often happens that things are not what they seem when first viewed, that the first blush of acquaintance is colored by either rosier or darker hues than would otherwise appear on closer inspection. First impressions of people are no different. As Elizabeth stood, greeting Miss Georgiana Darcy for the first time, she instantly perceived that what others might (and very usually did) attribute to this young lady as cold arrogance was in fact nothing more than painful timidity.

"It is so good to finally make your acquaintance Miss Bennett," chimed the dulcet-toned girl, with chestnut brown hair and elegant, though slightly, awkward manners.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Darcy, I assure you. I have heard nothing but glowing praise about your person, and I must confess, most especially about your talents on the pianoforte and harp."

The lanky young lady blushed and demurred the compliment. Elizabeth, still secretly reeling from the shy creature before her glanced at the brother, whose soft smile curving around his normally flat mouth only spun on her masked bemusement.

"You play and sing, also, is that not so, Miss Bennett?"

"Aye," Elizabeth replied, spreading a warm laugh over her dainty features. "And since you must ask in such a manner, I assume it is your brother who has informed you of my paltry efforts that I am sure must wither in comparison to your accomplishments."

Miss Darcy's blush reddened and she cast her eyes quickly away in evident embarrassment. Elizabeth, somewhat off balance from this sudden, strange introduction to Miss Georgiana Darcy had only meant to say something light, but instantly regretted her levity. She had been sitting alone, reading her letters, when Mr. Collins had bounded in and disturbed her peace in more ways than one by announcing in panting, side-cradling gasps, that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley and his noble sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, were even now at the gates of the parsonage. Elizabeth had been flustered and chagrined by the news, her situation only worsened by Mrs. Collins' and her sister's absence—Charlotte and Maria having gone out to visit one of the parishioners this morning.

She had composed herself, however, even while her cousin had dissembled in dripping heaves and fled to try and track down his wife and sister. Elizabeth had known of Mr. Darcy's imminent arrival to Kent, but had heard that a male cousin would be accompanying him and thus was surprised and curious to learn that the introduction of the mysterious Miss Darcy would be thrust upon her. Her amused wondering could not last long, because as soon as she had flattened her skirts and swiped that oft-errant curl away from her forehead, Mr. Darcy, in all his stately torpor had marched in, a slender, fair shadow trailing his self-assured gait.

"Is your family well, Miss Bennett?"

Elizabeth blinked at Mr. Darcy, and dimpled a little sheepishly at his scowl. He had caught her drifting mind. She airily apologized for her distracted attention in the face of such disapproval. "I thank you they are in good health, at least as of the last letter I received from them. And my sister Jane is in London," an idea struck her and she narrowed her gaze on his inscrutable expression, "did you never happen to see her this winter?"

She thought she detected some height in color, but could not be certain. His voice was melodiously banal as he replied, "I have not had the fortune to see Miss Bennett."

"Have you other siblings, Miss Bennett?" floated Miss Darcy's whispered inquiry.

"Indeed. I have four other sisters."

"Oh, how delightful. I have always wanted a sister."

"They do make for close companions and confidants, but, it is I who must envy you. For you see, I have no brothers. And I have always wanted a brother."

Miss Darcy blushed again, and mumbled, "I did not mean to imply ingratitude for my brother. He is most excellent and kind, the dearest brother a sister could have."

"I'm sure he is," Elizabeth absently replied, watching Georgiana flick nervous eyes up at her brother, a calm warmth infusing her flushed face.

Elizabeth had heard Mr. Darcy speak well, even affectionately, of his sister during their brief interlude together at Netherfield, but until this moment she had never fully appreciated nor indeed given him credit for how tender such sentiments must be in a man as hard as he. Begrudgingly, the becoming crimson of love lighting his sister's pale face, Elizabeth conceded that Mr. Darcy did have at least one good quality. He was clearly an adored elder brother.

The gentleman's stern brow wavered under Elizabeth's scrutiny, until the latter withdrew her gaze and returned it to Miss Darcy, renewing her pleasure in meeting her and wishing to continue the acquaintance—as such an addition to the small society surrounding Rosings would be very welcome.

The two Darcys did not remain long at the parsonage, Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas returning shortly after and filling the room anew with the formal chatter of introductions, Mr. Collins tromping in also with all the pomp of a wheezing bantam. As Elizabeth observed the departing guests through the thin drapes, smirking at her cousin's bent-over, obsequious stroll alongside them, Charlotte exclaimed at the strangeness of Mr. Darcy paying such a solicitous call, intimating that the courtesy must be for her friend's benefit. Elizabeth merely laughed at the implication, whirling away from the droll exit scene, and denied any singular attachment between herself and Mr. Darcy.

Scooping up her letters and hooking her elbow into the crook of her friend's arm, she confessed a delight in having the opportunity to mingle with a new lady for the remainder of her stay in Kent—and seeing just how the proud Mr. Darcy might react should a lady not tolerable enough to tempt him became friends with his own sister.


	2. Chapter 2

Elizabeth agreed with Charlotte that Miss Darcy's generous call must be paid in kind, with the same affable alacrity that had already been demonstrated. The three ladies from Hunsford thus set out early the following morning to return the visit. Maria chirped with rapturous inanities that echoed the songbirds' melodies all along the way. Elizabeth left the listening to Charlotte. She preferred to muse on what sort of reception they would receive at Rosings, not by the person whose courteousness they were trying to match, but by all others in the house. She did not imagine either of the Rosings' ladies would be much pleased by an unsolicited visit from them; and as for Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth anticipated his very likely absence with perhaps a little too much pleasure.

The haughty Rosings butler answered the door, with a cold civility that must foreshadow the entire visit's tone, and ushered them into the morning parlor, where Miss de Bourgh, Miss Jenkins and Miss Darcy waited. Elizabeth had indeed expected Mr. Darcy to be out of the room, but could hardly suppress her glee that his aunt should also be nowhere in sight.

Settling into the stiff velvet bench, Miss Jenkins informed them that her ladyship had to attend to some estate matters with her nephew and her absence must be excused. Charlotte made the necessary, albeit insincere, reply of regret and the entire visiting party sighed in collective relief. If Elizabeth wasn't mistaken, so did the young Miss Darcy across from her. Miss de Bourgh merely sniffled and elicited an immediate, hushed litany of alarm from her companion. The direct result being the removal of Miss Jenkins and Miss de Bourgh to the far side of the room, near the blazing grate. Elizabeth dimpled at the thought that the late Sir de Bourgh must be quite content to know all those expensive fireplaces were being put to good use. Her playful eye caught Miss Darcy's own bashful one and the young miss smiled fleetingly, casting her gaze down to her fidgeting fingers.

"Do you often come to Kent in the spring, Miss Darcy?" Charlotte began.

A wavering glance up, as she politely answered in the negative.

"Are you at school during the Easter season?" Charlotte continued, while a silent Elizabeth smiled encouragingly at the shy girl, a rush of compassion swooping into her heart for Miss Darcy.

"Yes, yes I am usually at school this time of the year, but I have recently finished. And in fact, I have been traveling with my companion for some time."

"Oh, is she here at Rosings also?"

"No, unfortunately a family matter interrupted our plans."

Elizabeth gathered Miss Darcy had rather not talk more about the departure of her friend, and delicately intercepted Charlotte's next question by observing, "Well, I am sorry for the loss of your companion, but as I am assuming her circumstances necessitated your accompanying your brother to Kent, I cannot complain. I do hope we can become friends, and succeed in distracting you from missing your previous plans too much."

The evident vulnerability of Miss Darcy evoked a bolder, almost maternal audacity in Elizabeth. Instinctively, she rested her gloved hand on Georgina's arm and crinkled her sparkling eyes. The tension visibly lessened in Georgiana at her warm, friendly touch.

Spurred on by kindness, Elizabeth took over the conversation and animatedly told Miss Darcy about her sisters, Hertfordshire, and music—the last subject sparking some longer replies and easier smiles from Georgiana. After an amusing anecdote centering on Lydia and a mishap at the church organ, the silver bell tingle of Georgiana's laugh rang out, Elizabeth's soft chuckle its low harmony. Quite abruptly the younger miss's laughter faded and was replaced by a quiet, surprised smile.

Elizabeth saw the shift in her counterpart's face and wrinkled her brow. Her confusion only lasted until she tracked Georgiana's gaze across the room, and her eyes alighted on Mr. Darcy. He wore a curious expression—a soft, nearly sweet, grin. His ramrod posture askew, his arms folded as he leaned against the door frame.

Moving his eyes from his sister to her, he straightened, nodded and approached. The mild amusement faltered into fastidious nothings as he stopped short beside the chair where Georgiana sat, ignoring all others in the room.

"I hope I am not intruding."

He addressed his sister, but his eyes darted over to Elizabeth.

"Not at all, Fitzwilliam. Miss Bennett and I were talking of," she almost giggled, "music."

Darcy widened his eyes in pleased bewilderment, struck by the playfulness of his sister's mood. It had been many months since he had seen her so quick to smile.

"What is so amusing, Georgiana? I have had the pleasure of listening to Miss Bennett's wit on a number of topics, but I do not believe music was ever one of them."

He turned his dark eyes on a somewhat pink-cheeked Elizabeth, a smugness covering his face as he enjoyed making her blush. The look was not lost on its object. His mild conceit irked Elizabeth and dissipated her mild chagrin.

She was forming some flippant retort when Georgiana innocently asked, "Oh, but Fitzwilliam didn't you talk of it with her when Miss Bennett first performed that Mozart piece for you? I'm sure you must have made some comment when you told her of your pleasure in hearing her…" Her voice trailed off at the look in her brother's face. "I must be misremembering."

She frowned in puzzlement and quickly bowed her head. Darcy turned away, leaving only his aristocratic profile in full view. A flush of red crept over the cheeks Georgiana as a dull silence thudded awkwardly into the room.

Elizabeth knew hardly what to say or think. She looked from the brother to the sister in confusion. Georgina's words tumbled around in her head. She remembered very easily the first time she played for Mr. Darcy, and if her memory was correct, it had been a Mozart sonata. But she could not recall any conversation between herself and Mr. Darcy on that occasion—good or bad—and she was sure she would have recollected some kind of exchange. Why would he inform his sister of such a mundane soiree? Certainly it seemed strange that a man who so evidently disapproved of her should be writing his sister about her, nay, praising her. But what else could she surmise? The outrageous suggestion would have been dismissed, deemed false, if not for the source. Her own face grew warm and she cast her mind about for some topic to break up this strained interlude in their conversation.

"I'm sure we each of us will have the occasion to hear my friend's views on any number of topics while she remains in Kent," Charlotte graciously supplied, laying her hands primly in her lap and placidly pursing her lips. She looked at Elizabeth, continuing, "You must not feel put upon, though, my dear, if your talents are sought after. It will do no good to feign modesty or mediocrity to those who are so intimately connected with you." Charlotte's grey eyes widened meaningfully at her fair friend and then she raised them to the rigid Mr. Darcy, adding, "Or those who might wish to be more intimately connected with you."

Elizabeth started but her surprise went unnoticed—as did the heightening of color and contempt in the gentleman's averted face. For, the ever tactful Charlotte had chosen that precise moment to lean across to Miss Darcy and take her limp hand.

"I hope I am not being too presumptuous by saying that. My friend and sister are blessed to have a ready acquaintance of your age and grace in the neighborhood, in addition to Miss de Bourgh's."

"Indeed," Elizabeth chimed in, embarrassment forcing her to speak. "I'm delighted to have the chance to know you better."

Georgiana smiled hesitatingly, as Maria, prodded by her sister's elbow, energetically nodded her agreement. Darcy coldly turned their way and slightly bowed. His expression inscrutable.

Any further comment was interrupted by her ladyship's entrance, to whom for the first time Elizabeth could truthfully tell, as she curtsied, how good it was to see her. Her overflowing, overbearing presence would not only hinder conversation it would entirely halt it. Soon, all the ladies became the unwitting parishioners for the great lady's sermon on the evils of democracy and the perniciousness of free thought—the nephew having exited the room and escaped the lessons against such whiggish principals without so much as a backward glance.

Elizabeth sighed in relief—allowing the incessant edicts wash over her with numbing delight. It put things in perspective, the familiar domineering lull of Lady Catherine, and reminded her, as it removed her from her former discomfiture, that Mr. Darcy must have made some passing comment about her musical performance to Georgiana, not out of any personal or perverse design, or anything to do with her own person at all, but rather it had everything to do with Georgiana. Even in their brief interaction, Elizabeth had perceived the girl only came alive when talked to of music. As her brother, Mr. Darcy must collect any number of musical stories and tales so as to ensure he had something pertinent and dear to discuss with his sister. Much as it pained her, she had to admit again and with more conviction that for all his faults and shortcomings, he was an engaged, tender elder brother.

Such logical summations soothed Elizabeth, saving her from something like dread. Why she should feel that way, she knew not. But when Charlotte had practically teased Mr. Darcy just moments before that was the unpleasant sensation that had leapt into her breast. A visceral, unnamed dread. And if she did not make light of Charlotte's comment soon enough, she feared this awkward albeit inconsequential, she reiterated to herself, faux pas would turn into something truly dreadful. Despite her misgivings, granting Darcy status as a generous sibling and guardian, proved far easier than considering the unanswerable alternative. She forced her mind to ignore any other interpretations.

Lady Catherine was so out of sorts with the pedestrian philosophies of the day that Elizabeth's poor attentiveness went unremarked. When she had finally and fully composed herself, Elizabeth silently vowed that if she were ever to bump into that hapless pamphleteer who had approached Lady Catherine this morning and aggravated her ire, she would thank him for his kindly-meant and terribly-placed zeal. At last the red-face madam had finished her rebuke of free thought and with it so too did the morning visit. With quick farewells, the Hunsford ladies rose and departed.

Not more than a few steps into the budding hedgerows, beyond prying eyes and ears, Elizabeth exclaimed, her humor and determination returned with the removal of her dismay, "My dear Charlotte, what ever came over you to behave so impertinently?"

"One cannot always be around such a quick tongue as yours Lizzy and not sharpen his or her own wit."

Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head, "Oh, no, you will not divert my purpose by complimenting me. I am serious. What did you mean by saying such a thing—for I know what you think and I feel it my duty to disabuse you of your ideas, for I have a much more rational explanation—"

"You presume a great deal, Lizzy. You cannot know what my thoughts have been."

"Well I certainly don't harbor any such presumptions," Maria admitted, weaving a lazy path along the tree line, "What are you two talking about?"

The elder two ladies smirked at one another.

"Nothing of consequence, of that you can be sure, Maria," replied Elizabeth.

"Nothing of consequence? Really? I do not wish to excite your hopes, Elizabeth, but I do not think it wise to ignore probable opportunities, either."

Elizabeth stopped abruptly, spinning around and swinging her interlocked hands behind her back she bowed with a dramatic flourish.

"I await your wisdom, my friend."

Charlotte would not be flustered or deterred by Elizabeth's theatrics and she again began walking towards the parsonage.

"You asked me to be serious and I pray you will do the same. Do not forget, Elizabeth, that I have known you longer than I have known almost anyone else of my acquaintance."

"Aye, Lizzy, Charlotte's known you longer than she's known me, and I'm her own sister."

"Precisely, Maria and so I beg you, Lizzy, to let me speak plainly. I should hate for a rift to come of this trifle."

Charlotte stopped, but not in jest, and Elizabeth followed. She searched the suddenly solemn lines of her plain friend's face.

"Gracious, Charlotte. Perhaps I am mistaken. I had thought your rather sly remark was shocking but not grave. I will try to be serious. I will hear you out, so long as you believe me that I have no designs on Mr. Darcy and am wholly convinced of him having no designs on me."

"Of course, Lizzy. And I apologize for potentially dampening your spirits, but for all your sentimental notions on matrimony, you are no romantic simpleton. I believe you would act prudently should something come of what you should not deny is a very wealthy gentleman's interest in you."

Elizabeth, seeing that Charlotte's heart really was involved, remained silent—despite her growing certainty that what Georgiana had let slip was nothing revealing; a slip in etiquette and not of confidences. Time and space giving her reasoning all the more assurance; though no more proof.

"I see that you are at least listening, but unbelieving" Charlotte said shrewdly. "And so my one piece of advice is the same as I gave to you, on Jane's behalf, many months ago. If you think it even remotely possible that you may secure Mr. Darcy's affections, you should not let any amount of personal sensibility blind your good sense. Nothing would be amiss in making him think you feel more than you do."

Elizabeth colored at her friend's mercenary tactics, but really wanting to keeps things from turning tragic, playfully cried out, "Charlotte! You must not determine things to be certain that by no means are. Or speak to me as though I only sought a rich husband. In any case, I want a title as well."

Charlotte shrugged and replied, walking away, "No, Lizzy, I am not trying to make you see things that are not there or make you into a fortune hunter. Truly I am only seeking to offer you my friendly advice."

Elizabeth stifled her own opinions for now, really wishing to end this conversation and stepped apace with her friend.

"Thank you, Charlotte," she tried to sound sincere, if only at first. "I will consider your counsel, but please do not start planning for a summertime visit to the great Pemberley. If I am to catch Mr. Darcy, I imagine I will have to wait for hunting season and that does not leave me with much time to entrap him since the larger game chases happen in the late spring."

Charlotte indulged her with a small grin, "You laugh now, but she who laughs first is not the one who laughs longest."

"No, but perhaps she is the one who laughs the freest."

Maria, who still circled the scattered grove of pines, piped in, "Are you talking about Mr. Darcy still? For, I do not think I have ever seen him laugh at all, and would be much surprised to learn he had even as child."

"Well, when I have got Mr. Darcy as my husband, I shall ask him."

Charlotte laughed sincerely this time and so did Elizabeth and Maria, but their merriment was cut short by the appearance of none other than Mr. Darcy, sitting astride a large white stallion on the brink of entering through an opening in the hedges. His approach had been nearly silent, so spongy was the spring ground. Maria gasped, Charlotte paled and Elizabeth flushed. She lowered her eyes, cursing her misfortune and inopportune wit. The only thought shooting comet-like in her mind was if he had heard her. The horse's bridle jingled and she raised her batted-down lashes. To her surprise, she thought she saw a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. Surely if he had heard her (and it seemed just her luck that he had) he would be seriously offended, not suffocating a smile.

He tipped his hat as their eyes locked and brushed through the small space in the shrubbery. The ladies all curtsied and shuffled back, watching him start away at a gallop. It was apparent from the fresh sheen of the horse's coat and the lack of sweat on the rider's brow that he was only just beginning his ride.

"Do you think he overheard us?" Charlotte asked.

Elizabeth scrutinized his retreating outline, more mystified by him than ever. "I cannot imagine how he could not have."

Charlotte shook her head and Maria, who it seemed, had been holding her breath, let out a long, exaggerated sigh. Turning about, the three women walked the remaining short distance to the parsonage—Elizabeth trying anew to convince herself that Mr. Darcy could not possibly hold her in any regard. Her one comfort, she happily recalled as she ambled through the front door, was that even if he did have some cursory attraction to her, he would never deign to act on it. Although it might prove interesting as she became better acquainted with his sister.


	3. Chapter 3

Elizabeth was putting on her bonnet in the vestibule when a loud clatter erupted outside. She finished tying the bonnet's knot around her chin and curiously opened the door. Standing in the lane was the familiar sight of Miss de Bourgh's phaeton and ponies, but without the familiar figures of Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkins. In their place sat Miss Darcy and her brother. The clatter must have been the over-eager greeting by Mr. Collins, who was splayed in the mud with his garden gate hanging awkwardly from its hinges. Elizabeth's first thought was not to rush out and see how her cousin was faring, but a sudden urge to close the door before anyone observed her. She had not seen either Darcy for three days and her anxiety of facing Mr. Darcy outweighed her enthusiasm to greet her new friend. But as she hesitated, the Hunsford butler hurried to her side and, excusing himself, scuttled out to assist his red-faced master. The wide-open door was now noticed by all in the lane. Elizabeth could not escape her fate. She stepped out onto the drive and approached the splattered Mr. Collins, who nursed his right arm, and the two amused-looking Darcys.

Avoiding meeting Mr. Darcy's cynical eye, she turned to her cousin.

"Do you need me to fetch anything for you?"

Mr. Collins shook his head, scoffing. "'Tis nothing but a tumble. An event I am sure happens to even the most skilled of athletes. No, no Cousin Elizabeth, we men" and he bowed to Mr. Darcy, "do not need the same attention when scrapes and bruises befall us as our fair ladies do."

Despite the deepening grimace of pain on Mr. Collins' face, she found it difficult not to roll her eyes at her cousin and asked, "At least let me send for Charlotte. She said she would not return from the parishioners until midmorning."

Mr. Collins waved her away again but to his credit did not do so to his butler and bid farewell to all those in the lane. Elizabeth watched him hobble into the house and imagined he must be in some pain indeed to flee the presence of the Darcys so quickly.

Elizabeth recollected her company and gave them a proper greeting, which they returned. Mr. Darcy did not betray any particular resentment or regard in his brief hello but appeared as cool as he had ever been towards her in Hertfordshire. Elizabeth silently sighed in relief. It appeared that whatever his thoughts on her were, his pride or his manners would not allow him to treat her with anything different than the remote civility with which he seemed to treat everyone. Miss Darcy on the other hand was all smiles and warmth.

After the pleasantries had been dispensed Elizabeth was about to make her excuses and finally set out for her walk when Georgiana hesitatingly began:

"Miss Bennett I was wondering if you would, would like to accompany me. My cousin has been so kind as to let me use her ponies and phaeton."

Elizabeth had assumed that their stop here in front of the parsonage had been a formality not their destination. Apparently she had been wrong. She paused a little before recovering and replying, with a wide, happy grin that she would be delighted to join her. After glancing at Mr. Darcy, she added, "Do you mean this morning though Miss Darcy? I should hate to crowd you."

"Not at all Miss Bennett. I only came to accompany my sister if you proved unable to go along with her." Darcy dryly said. Swiftly he handed the reins over to his sister and alighted from the carriage. He whistled and from around the shrubbery trotted a groom on a large stallion.

"Thomas you can walk back to the stables. I will take Poseidon out this morning."

"Very well, sir." The groom jumped off the animal and bowed to the ladies before jogging around the bend.

Darcy did not immediately move to take command of his horse. Instead he offered his hand to Elizabeth, who lowered her eyes as she accepted it, and assisted her into the phaeton. She withdrew her hand rather quickly from his grip. It was firmer and more forceful than she was used to, but it was the warm familiarity of the touch that unnerved her. She winked a smile at Georgiana and situated her skirts, keeping her eye on the brother. Darcy walked to his horse and hardly breaking his stride flung his leg over the saddle. For the first time since Elizabeth had overheard him refuse to dance with her, she noticed how very tall and attractive his frame was. No horsewoman herself she always envied and admired those who moved with grace and ease around the hulking animals.

This exchange was all done in a smooth, brief matter of minutes. Darcy tipped his hat as he rode off and Elizabeth and Georgiana jostled away. Elizabeth had never ridden in such a small contraption. She wondered that the frail Miss de Bourgh should like such a bumpy means of transportation.

The two young ladies soon fell into a congenial conversation, with much prodding and questioning by Elizabeth. It turned out that the Darcys had been rather busy since arriving. Their aunt appeared to want to show off her niece and nephew and had attended a fete here or soiree there for the last three evenings. Elizabeth felt only a twinge of regret that she could not join in on the socializing. The neighborhood's wealth and grandeur was too out of reach for the likes of the Collins's.

As Georgina continued to answer Elizabeth's questions, her tone and voice growing in strength and elegance, Elizabeth picked up a few things that she doubted the guileless Miss Darcy had not meant to reveal: the first and foremost being the disagreement subsisting between Mr. Darcy and Lady Catherine on how to introduce Georgiana into society. No wonder the infamously unsocial Lady Catherine had accepted every invitation thus far. Elizabeth gathered that her ladyship wanted to take the helm in steering Georgiana through her first season and presumed that her stay at Rosings should be a precursor to that upcoming event. Mr. Darcy, from all that Elizabeth heard, was not so keen on the idea. Elizabeth wondered if her ladyship's enthusiasm was from some feeling of missed opportunity since her own daughter's health prevented her from going out into society much, or if it was just another example of the Mistress of Rosings' very healthy sense of her own importance.

"Fitzwilliam and my cousin Richard, my other guardian, and even Aunt Catherine are very well meaning, of course, but," Georgiana's expression grew pained and she drew up the reins, "Can you keep a secret Miss Bennett?"

"Of course." She smiled encouragingly and experienced anew that impulse to protect this delicate girl.

Georgiana sighed. "I do not feel ready to have a season this next year. The idea of being approached and flattered by countless strangers even now makes me barely able to sleep."

"Oh but I'm sure your protectors—your brother and your cousin—will do everything in their power to ensure you are safe from, say, undeserving suitors or upstarts. That is what protectors do. And I daresay your brother especially will be very protective of you."

"That's my other worry. I worry Fitzwilliam will be too protective that I won't be flattered or sought after at all."

To that admission Elizabeth had nothing to say. She thought Georgiana might very well be right.

"How did your first season go Miss Bennett?"

Elizabeth laughed as the phaeton rocked forward at Georgiana's direction. "Oh I have never done a London Season. My father hates town and we are really of such little consequence it would be a trifling matter for any of us Bennett girls to have one."

Georgiana failed to hide her surprise. The ponies marched on and Elizabeth admired the bright, spring day. The sunshine danced through the leaves and the birds sang a high-pitched symphony of chatter.

"I envy you Miss Bennett."

Elizabeth made a wry face.

"No, really. To be so certain of one's place and so confident with one's self. It is a gift I never knew women could possess in such a way. I sometimes wonder how things would have been different had—oh, but that does not matter. I have not that talent of others to feel so at ease in the world. I cannot judge who is worthy of my attention. I am a great disappointment."

"You are too hard on yourself, Miss Darcy. You are still young, and you have the entire world at your feet. Give yourself time to make a few mistakes and learn from them before you berate yourself so heartily."

The ponies had stopped again and were now munching on some low-hanging branches. Elizabeth watched as Georgiana suddenly burst into tears and without pause threw her arms around the girl. She soothed and shushed, her shoulder getting soaked through and her mind reeling from such a display of emotion by Mr. Darcy's sister. She clearly did not have the bland aloofness of her brother.

Elizabeth could not fully understand what Georgiana said as she sobbed but caught enough to turn her chagrin into outright shock—Ramsgate, elopement, her brother discovering her and several times the name of Wickham repeated. Elizabeth suppressed the urge to push Georgiana off of her and cry out in alarm when she realized what sort of light this cast the dashing Mr. Wickham. It was shocking! It was scandalous! But even as her mind whirled and sagged under the confession it refused to disbelieve such a tale. Every tremor in Georgina's slight frame confirmed its veracity. She tried to better hear Georgina but her attention kept turning inward—condemning her blind partiality for Mr. Wickham and now obviously misplaced disdain for Mr. Darcy. But self, though it would intrude, could not for long drown out the cries of Miss Darcy. Again she focused in on Georgiana's heaving professions of remorse and regret.

By the time Georgiana's sobs had quieted into hiccups Elizabeth suffered no qualms by accepting the story and despising its villain—though declaring its hero was a different matter. Her dislike for Mr. Darcy was so thoroughly rooted that she chose not to contemplate his role too closely at the moment. Instead she allowed her sensibilities to be directed down another path. Mr. Wickham had insinuated himself in the worst possible way with this girl and added to her outrage at his rakish pretensions was a bitter feeling of misuse by him towards herself.

"Miss Darcy, I have nothing but words, heartfelt though they are, to give you. But please accept my regrets that you were harmed by the meanness and contrivances of a most unworthy man. And know that I shall never divulge your secret to anyone." Georgiana at last looked up. Her face awash in tears. "And believe me when I tell you what I said before, and I say it with even more conviction: You ought not to berate yourself so heartily. It is not you who is to blame but others, one in particular. And remember, if I heard you correctly, that you told your brother yourself of the elopement and by such an act must be absolved of any guilt, if there had even been any on your head to begin with."

Georgiana sniffed. Her doleful eyes still brimmed with sorrow. "If I could but honestly feel that what you say is true, Miss Bennett—but I cannot. I pick over the past and know I did not behave as I know I should have. I am a disappointment. A very great one. I feel it constantly too now that I am spending so much time with my brother, and am out in public." She grasped onto Elizabeth's hand. "But maybe, maybe I would be better if I could have you at my side. There is a ball—the thing I fear the most—tonight. Do I impose myself too much by asking you to attend?"

Elizabeth unwound her fingers from the desperate grip. "I would feel awkward. The Collins's have not been invited."

"Oh, but I am inviting you. And I am sure it will be no bother. Anne cannot attend. She was feeling too poorly to even come out with me this morning. Please, Miss Bennett. It would mean ever so much to me."

For the first time since devolving into tears, Georgiana smiled and Elizabeth could not really turn her down. If she were honest with herself, she did not want to. A private ball with champagne and happy conversation, lively music and of course dancing was temptation enough.

"Very, well. If it is no trouble."

Georgiana's smile widened, the sad shimmer in her eye glistened into a twinkle. "Oh, thank you Elizabeth—May I call you Elizabeth? I know we have only just met, but I feel as though I have known you for years."

Elizabeth couldn't refuse her that, especially after the confidences she had just shared with her and told her yes.

"And please call me Georgiana. Miss Darcy is far too formal."

Elizabeth did so and crinkled her nose as she grinned. Georgiana picked up the reins, humming, and the ponies whinnied happily in reply. The bloom of youth returned to her cheeks. Elizabeth sighed and mused over the wonders of youth-so constant in their fluctuating moods. She forgot for the moment that she was not that much older than Georgiana.

"Oh, and I have another request," Georgiana suddenly chirped. All shyness banished by her new-found closeness with Elizabeth. "Fear not, it is not what you think. I have a gown I haven't been able to wear all year. It doesn't fit me quite so well. But we are about the same height and I brought it because I keep thinking I will one day look well in it. But I think with your hair and eye color it could be the sweetest combination. Would you think about wearing it?"

'That's hardly a favor. I will gladly try it on."

Elizabeth hadn't even thought about what she might wear but she knew she had not brought a single ball gown. Georgiana's generosity could not have been more kindly appreciated. They trotted along for awhile in comfortable silence. Elizabeth looked out over the rolling hills and unexpectedly spotted Mr. Darcy on a grassy slope several yards away. An unpleasant thought struck her.

"Georgiana, I don't mean to belay this point but are you quite sure it will be no inconvenience for me to attend with you this evening. I would hate to impose on anyone."

"No, Elizabeth. It is just perfect. Fitzwilliam was already fretting, as only he can, that I would not have a lady companion."

Elizabeth bit her cheek and wrinkled her brow. "Actually, Georgiana, it is your brother of whom I am thinking. I do not wish to force my company on him."

Georgiana pursed her lips and seemed to be suppressing a laugh. "Oh, I would not worry about that Elizabeth. Fitzwilliam will not mind in the least that you are attending."

Elizabeth discovered that coy remark was all she was to receive and bumped along in confusion until they reached the parsonage gates. Mr. Darcy appeared as soon as the phaeton's wheels ground to a halt. With the same slick expeditiousness he dismounted from his stallion and offered his hand to Elizabeth as she stepped down. This time she looked him full in the face when their hands touched. But before she could make out his expression, he cast down his eyes. The blush on his cheeks must have been her imagination.


	4. Chapter 4

Elizabeth couldn't do it any longer. Slipping behind the sheer drapes, she leaned back against the glass doors and pushed her way to freedom. The cold night air whooshed over her ears. She twirled around the swinging doors and closed her eyes. Taking a luxuriant breath, she rested her head on the cool stone. She clutched at the scooping neckline of Georgina's blue silk gown and whispered a new prayer of thanks that her kind friend had lent her such an elegant dress (and grateful more that her figure supported the cascading décolletage). The soft midnight sounds drowned out the cacophony of chatter and dancing within the grand estate walls.

Grand barely described the massive opulence and gilded prestige of this castle, known throughout Kent as Cumberbatch. Its owner was a young widower of considerable wealth and property. He even had acquired a title, though only that of a lower baronet. His name was Sir Gregory La Rae—apparently a distant relative of the Nine Day Queen. Most believed his young wife had been taken from him to balance out the abundance of his good fortune, for to all his other worldly goods was added a charming disposition and a handsome face. But even in the death of his wife he had been blessed: before her parting she had left him with twin newborn boys. All these juicy morsels about Sir Gregory had been fed to Elizabeth by the good-natured gossips who had sat around her whilst she had supped. The meal had overflowed with surprises for her tongue as well as for her ear.

In truth the entire evening had been full of surprises. And as usual in life, some had been welcome and others less so. The host had really been the essence of graciousness and hospitality. He had even asked Elizabeth to dance a set—talking so well of music and books, art and opera that for once in her life she had wished she was not dancing so that she could better talk. To be singled out by him had made her at first blush and then later flush with delight. More delightful still, though, was how much Georgiana had blossomed as the night progressed. Elizabeth hardly recognized the radiant Miss Darcy and certainly failed to recognize her influence on her transformation. Even now Georgiana was happily committed to dance the next four sets and Elizabeth could take this moment of reprieve—a reprieve necessitated by the less welcome surprises of the night. Their unpleasantness threatened to overshadow all the good.

An awkward young suitor had been introduced to her early in the evening and had taken to tracking her every step. It took all her light footedness to out-maneuver his heavy-handed pursuit. A group of energetic young ladies had decided to befriend Georgiana and her but with mortifying displays of boisterousness. Such companions were harmless but harassments all the same. Worse still had been the near constant glowers of displeasure from Mr. Darcy. His dire looks and infelicitous air had cast a pall on her entire evening. Why had he come to this ball at all if he meant to dance with only Georgiana and disapprove of everyone else? Elizabeth most of all?

She could not fathom it. He had been much warmer in the carriage ride, possibly even affable. That had all changed once they arrived at the ball and she was whisked away with Georgiana by the baronet. Mr. Darcy had not spoken to her once, had glared at her several times and had even snubbed her a few times. Any lingering curiosity about the possibility of him harboring some regard for her was now utterly dissolved. She had not sought his attentions or really even desired them this evening but she had thought that as Georgiana's particular companion and now an acquaintance of some familiarity he would have asked her to dance. She cared little for what the group at large thought of her but had the feeling that Georgiana, sweet Georgiana, was hurt by the slight. Hateful man! What ailed him?

She sighed again. Her eyes were still closed and she attempted to let the soft March air still her angry thoughts. At least out on the balcony; no one and nothing could harass her. The floral breeze tickled her thin eye lids. The coolness was a welcome relief after the swelter of the house.

"The ballroom prove too warm for your tastes, Miss Bennett?"

Elizabeth's eyes flew open and she gasped. Turning to her right, she saw Mr. Darcy standing at the far end of the balcony. She colored. She stared. She stammered.

"Sorry, sir, I did not mean to intrude on your privacy. Indeed, I would never have trespassed on your solitude."

She lifted her long train, bowing her heavy head and started for the doors.

"I believe I should be the one to apologize, Miss Bennett." She paused and turned to him with an arch look. Her ire always up around him. "I should have made my presence known when you first approached but I must confess I was lost in thought—an activity well-suited for a balcony, wouldn't you agree?"

"This balcony at least it would seem."

He wore a curious smile at her remark.

"Do you often seek solitude during a dance Miss Bennett?"

"I try never to do anything too frequently or infrequently—especially at dances, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it and only nodded. He abruptly turned away and stared out across the moonlit grounds.

"Have you enjoyed your stay in Kent?"

Elizabeth longed to escape back into the house but she did not feel she could run away now. She could not stoop to rudeness just because he deigned to do so on such a regular basis. In any case, Georgiana had begged her right before supper to talk with Mr. Darcy about accepting the invitation they had received from the baronet to go on a picnic tomorrow afternoon. For all Georgiana's burgeoning confidence it had not grown to such heights as to embolden her to talk openly with her brother. Elizabeth had thought it a strange request to come from her but after much pleading had relented and promised Georgiana that she would talk to Mr. Darcy. Now was as good a time as any and possibly better. His mercurial mood seemed to be passing.

"Miss Bennett did you hear me?"

Elizabeth dimpled and hoped his temper had not already returned.

"You must excuse me. I cannot seem to keep my mind on the present tonight Mr. Darcy." She sashayed over and leaned against the intricate bulwark of the balcony. Trailing her eyes over the shadowy tree line and lush grounds of Cumberbatch she mused, "Kent is lovely and I have enjoyed my time with Mrs. Collins. I never thought I would see such loveliness as these grounds though."

She elegantly waved her gloved hand. From her periphery she saw Mr. Darcy shrug his shoulders. Pemberley must be stunning indeed for him to shrug at this estate. Would his self-importance never cease to amaze? Her fingers strummed on the stone as a thick silence descended between them. She was determined he must pick up the conversation since his arrogant gesture had let it drop.

"Have you stayed close to Hunsford or have you had the opportunity to see some of the other notable sites?" He at length asked. "It is an early spring and there is one view not far from here that displays this part of the country in all its particular glory."

"I have not been so fortunate as to leave the environs of Rosings but those grounds are extensive enough that I have not felt the least bit dissatisfied by Kent."

"A lack of dissatisfaction is different than a wealth of satisfaction."

"To be sure but there are manifold degrees between those two levels of contentment Mr. Darcy. I assure you I am not suffering the least from any feeling of want and might even say that I am _benefiting_ from my stay in Kent."

The gentleman immediately grew more alert and shifted his gaze from the grounds to her face. His expression instantly animated with interest. Every line in his body strung taut. Elizabeth could tell he was struggling to maintain the torpor in his voice when he asked, "Pray tell me what benefits those might be Miss Bennett?"

Elizabeth raised a subtle brow at his reaction. "The benefit of having become acquainted with your sister, sir."

"Naturally," he muttered as the agitation fled from his features. He cast his intent eye back out over the balcony. When he spoke next he sounded almost sad.

"Georgiana is very lucky to have met you as well Miss Bennett. I trust I am breaking no brotherly confidence in telling you that I have been worried about her these last few months. She had…some difficulty this past summer. I think I have been overly cautious in allowing her into society ever since."

Elizabeth furtively observed his expression and then returned her gaze to the moonlit view. She thanked him for the compliment and assured him he had broken no filial trust, adding, "She is a sweet girl Mr. Darcy and blessed to have a brother who cares for her happiness and seeks to shield her from the world. But young girls cannot be sheltered forever and we must permit them to try their own way when it is prudent and proper. For instance, this ball is a wonderful place to start and I know for a fact it has already led to other opportunities for her to refine her social talents."

To her surprise, Darcy chuckled. She must have looked affronted because he quickly recovered and said, "Sweet Georgiana is but clever too. Has she already managed to convince you to take up her causes with me?"

Elizabeth's cheeks glowed with embarrassment and she suffered a moment of unease.

"Fear not I am not upset. She can go to the picnic." He smirked at her bemusement. "Sir Gregory had the good sense to invite me as well."

Elizabeth quite literally gawked at Mr. Darcy. The sudden droll easiness of his attitude made her doubt every preconceived notion she had held about him. Although she would never go so far as Maria and claim Mr. Darcy had not laughed even as a child she had supposed him to be a _man_ devoid of a sense of humor. Had he not mocked her once for being too ready to laugh at others? In particular when those others included him?

She realized too late that he was watching her gape at him and what had been a faint pink on her skin now deepened to a dark red. He seemed to read her thoughts for he next observed in the same ironic tone.

"My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who usually accompanies me on my annual visit to Rosings, is also an avid study of character and I must admit he finds mine to be a little too amusing for my liking."

Before Elizabeth could respond, he straightened to his full height and adjusted his cufflinks.

"I have detained you long enough, Miss Bennett. But before I return you to my sister would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me, if you are not already engaged?"

She had the distinct impression that Mr. Darcy was enjoying wrong-footing her. And with little grace, she accepted his offer and took his proffered arm.

No one seemed to take note of their entrance into the ballroom—or to have taken note of their absence either. The room teemed with too many faces and figures. Too much bustling and jostling energized the place for any in attendance to notice a couple slip back into its swarming confines. To her relief, the next set was just beginning. She could have this dance with Darcy and then the rest of the night to herself. Her duty and his duty acquitted with as little trouble as possible on both their parts.

As she took her place opposite Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth scanned the room for his sister.

"She is with that circle of girls in the corner," her partner supplied, eying the clump of loud young ladies with a disdainful look she knew only too well.

"Oh," she replied.

They danced down the line without much conversation for the next several minutes; although the gentleman rarely allowed his gaze to stray from her face. Boredom or impishness compelled her to finally break the wordless interaction. Elizabeth blew out her breath, wondering if he ever started a conversation while dancing. And when the next movement forced them to join hands, she decided to ask just that.

"Do you forget your own words so easily my lady?" He responded, a flash of a grin over his stately expression. "I have no proverbial wisdom to dispense, not a single eclat to be handed down to prosperity and thus must maintain my taciturn nature."

Elizabeth was amused by his gallantry and his good memory. Her sincere laugh as a reply made his eyes spark with a new light.

"Fie! Mr. Darcy if I had known you have been cataloging all my retorts to you I would have come better prepared to spar. I had hoped to pass myself off with some credit in this country. As it is I fear you will use my words against me."

"I must advance my cause while I can. Knowing you as I do, I believe your recent confidences with my sister will equip you with more than enough ammunition." A pause came in the dance and they stood at rest across from each other. His demanding eyes locked with hers. "Your wit is as sharp as any blade and Georgiana has already let slip your greatest advantage where I am concerned."

Elizabeth was grateful that the dance started to move again. She grasped at the hand of the gentleman to her right as he twirled her in the opposite direction from Mr. Darcy's determined stare. A rush of heat overspread her features. Could he really be intimating what she thought he was? Could Georgiana's innocent admission the other day mean exactly what Charlotte thought it had? She wanted to run away; to abscond into the night and sort out her turbulent thoughts but much too soon she was reaching for Mr. Darcy's hand.

Her heart raced when he fastened his grip around her fingers. Had his hold always been so warm? So firm? She glanced at him through lowered lashes and felt even more confused by the pallor of noble insouciance painted back on his face.

Her nerves were too agitated and her spirits too affected to continue with the banter. And whether from a similar state of disquiet or not, Mr. Darcy chose not to extend their conversation either. The last few minutes of the dance passed in the same silent fashion as the first, including the unwavering direction of Mr. Darcy's eyes.

As he escorted Elizabeth to the corner where Georgiana still chatted with the young ladies, he stopped short. So distracted by her jumbled thoughts and feelings she stumbled at his abrupt halt. His arm circled around her waist to stop her fall and she stiffened at the touch. For a moment the clamber of the crowd slowed and the din of the noise dimmed. His face hovered above her own and her voice caught in her throat. She had never been so close to a man before, apart from her father. She could smell the sweetness of his cologne and the tartness of the wine on his breath, feel the tremble of his muscles and see the flecks of yellow in his dark eyes. Color flooded into both their faces.

"Good catch, old boy!"

Elizabeth couldn't see the speaker but instantly recalled the voice. In a flash, she was spun upward and stood on her own two feet. The baronet was patting Darcy on the shoulder; a wide grin on his face and a withering frown on his counterpart's.

"I say, you have all the luck. I danced a much longer set with Miss Bennett than you and I was not nearly as fortunate as to sweep her off her feet."

Elizabeth blushed and Darcy made a dry, obligatory remark. Before the baronet could continue, however, he excused them both and hurried her off toward Georgiana. He quickly released her arm and briskly bowed. Darcy glanced at his sister, who giggled a couple feet away with the gaggle of young ladies. He swung his gaze back onto her. She folded her hands and bit her lip, anticipating his next comment to be some formal apology about their public embrace. Instead she received the biggest surprise thus far of this night full of surprises.

"Perhaps I will think differently of this in morning, but I feel obliged to confess Miss Bennett that I am not going on the picnic tomorrow for Georgiana's sake but rather for my own." He leaned over and whispered into her ear. "I can handle Sir Gregory as a possible suitor for my sister's hand but not a rival suitor for yours."

Without another word, he marched away. Georgiana soon ran up to her, laughing and light-hearted. Elizabeth knew not how to reply to her immediate inquiry as to how she enjoyed the dance with her brother or the follow up question of whether or not she had found an opportunity to talk to him about the picnic.


	5. Chapter 5

Elizabeth did not sleep well that night. In fact she did not sleep at all. The ball ran into the wee hours of the morning when the faintest pink is already touching the edges of the dark horizon and by the time she lay her head down on her pillow dawn was merrily trickling across the fields. Despite the heaviness of her mind and eyes sleep refused to come. No rest for the weary and evidently no rest for the love-wary either.

What was she supposed to do with the knowledge that Mr. Darcy had so unwittingly and spontaneously sprung on her? She had only learned of his justification for disliking Wickham but yesterday and with the preparations for the ball and the ball itself had had no time at all to consider with more measured reflection how this new light on his character put the other aspects of his personality into new reliefs. True he must not be as shadowy a figure as Wickham had drawn him to be, but where did that leave him? Where did that leave her opinion of him?

Brotherly affection aside, he was still the same disagreeable, conceited man whose pride dictated his actions and arrogance characterized his attitude. His manners were not improved since her stay at Netherfield. His severe disposition as opposite to her ebullient one as stone is to air.

Pummeling her pillow she begrudgingly admitted that he must feel some tender regard for her—though she would have never guessed it by his behavior as recent as last night. Affection or attraction had not softened, at least not in essentials, his hard propensity to hate everything and everyone around him. Well, apparently not everyone she ruefully recalled. Not she.

By no means overly modest, Elizabeth's vanity was not of the type to easily inflate. The brisk, gauche mode of his declaration had not made her feel puffed up but rather troubled and ill-at-ease. Had he revealed his intentions for no other reason than he considered her a prize to be had? Were his designs on her borne of some perverse masculine conquest predetermined between himself and the baronet? Rival suitor? How could her one dance with Sir Gregory possibly translate into him as a suitor in any case? Little did she know the answers to these worrisome, and in her mind, very pertinent questions. And Mr. Darcy's slick treatment of her last night did nothing to warm her heart toward him or turn her mind more agreeably in his favor. For to her other objections about his person she now could add jealousy. All in all, Mr. Darcy's declaration had not moved Elizabeth's obstinate dislike of him and in some ways only reaffirmed it.

She felt only trepidation about the upcoming picnic. The carriage ride back to Hunsford had seemed to stretch on for much longer than its twenty minutes. How would she endure an entire afternoon in the same discomfort? Futilely she attempted to think of some plausible excuse to avoid the likely miserable outing but some sense of independence revolted against cowing to her fears. Why should she miss out on the beauties of nature because of the peculiar nature of the human heart? Because Mr. Darcy had chosen last night to suddenly become enamored of her, or at least envious of her esteem? At some point when the servants and Collinses had begun to rummage and roam about the house she fell into a fitful sleep. The revelations and events of the previous night continued to tumble around her mind, tossing and turning along with her body.

* * *

The noonday sun glared in through the bedroom window by the time she finished her morning toilette. Charlotte had been kind enough to bring her a tray with biscuits and strong tea and for several minutes at a time she would find herself stirring the dark liquid with a languid hand and a far-off look in her eye. When she caught her morose reflection in the mirror she would start and shake her head, gulp down the ever-colder drink and trace her fingers over the invisible wrinkles on her young face. On any other day she would have at least been secretly gratified that her complexion shone brilliantly and her springy tendrils were falling happily into place, but she took no such discreet pleasure in her appearance today. Too soon to her liking, Charlotte was knocking at her door, and with a knowing, almost smug smile on her face, informed Elizabeth that the Darcy carriage awaited her.

"You do know that I will not be satisfied with the same terse replies this evening Lizzy as I accepted this morning," she teased as she helped Elizabeth into her pelisse.

Elizabeth managed a half-smile before trudging out to the Pemberley livery. If the Darcys noticed the heaviness of her gait, usually so light and airy, neither remarked. She smiled sincerely at Georgiana who was peeking her cheery face out the window and waving. Mr. Darcy rode atop his large, white horse and swept his hat off at her approach. Elizabeth self-consciously nodded at him, a well of gratitude shooting up into heart that he would not be traveling in the carriage.

"Fitzwilliam has some sudden business to run off and attend to but he said he would take us as far as Cumberbatch and then join the picnic party a little later," Georgiana merrily informed Elizabeth.

Elizabeth managed to say, "Oh, does he," before clamping shut her mouth in order to stifle the rapturous relief from overtaking her expression. The subsequent skip in her step, however, as she came to the carriage door could not be so easily subdued.

* * *

The picnic party was scattered about the hilltop. A lazy, light breeze bent the tall grass, sending nascent blossoms into the air. The handful of ladies and gentlemen kept picking the down of thistles out of their hair as they laughed and allowed the bountiful meal to settle in their stomachs. The party consisted of around a dozen people—of all different sizes and ages, rank and wealth. Elizabeth was quickly learning that the baronet enjoyed people, and a great many of them all at once.

To her chagrin the clumsy suitor (she suddenly had too many of them in her opinion) was here, along with one of the loudest, most exuberant young ladies from the boisterous bunch of girls last night. When she discovered these two individuals were siblings she hardly batted an eye, but when she discovered that they were also the baronet's late wife's siblings she barely kept her countenance. At least until she remembered her three younger sisters and recollected that shared blood did not necessarily signify shared personalities. What was truly astonishing though was that this socially-uncouth pair was related to the Prince Regent. She had always heard that the word royalty ought to be made synonymous with the word oddity and after becoming acquainted with Lady Felicia and Lord Peter Vanguard she had to agree.

Thankfully, the young Lord Vanguard must have taken the hint about her disinterest, or perhaps it had been given to him by his sister because he had not bothered her the entire afternoon. As the early afternoon meandered into the late afternoon Elizabeth felt certain that Lady Felicia fancied herself a matchmaker. The bubbly, bulbous young lady had been a little too obvious in her delight, with flagrant grins and wild nods in Elizabeth's direction, whenever Sir Gregory and she were seated next to one another—which Elizabeth had to admit was rather frequently. The baronet flitted from one group to the next but he did seem to make a concerted effort to spend as much time as possible with her. Naturally Georgiana was beside Elizabeth for much of the meal but she had shrunk back into her shell and aside from a few asides in the conversation, Sir Gregory focused most of his attention on Elizabeth. Some other couples from the neighborhood and the baronet's twin boys, Harold and Nathanial, with their stout governess in tow, rounded out the group.

The gentlemen and ladies languished under the weight of the rich meal and a light sunshine but the two boys positively flourished in it. Their pleasant giggles echoed around the idle hilltop crowd. They were exuberant five year olds and kept their elderly governess constantly running around on her feet. Elizabeth watched their unwitting performance of a deathly duel with an indulgent grin. She leaned over to say something to Georgiana but was pleased to see that her quiet companion was at last freely conversing with others, even if it was only the Vanguards. She turned her attention back to Harold and Nathanial, and their hapless, harangued governess Mrs. Dewey.

Sir Gregory, who had just reseated himself next to her, shifted nearer and mischievously whispered, "Mrs. Dewey claims that she runs around so much that she can eat whenever and whatever she wants, but from all that I can see I can hardly agree with her."

Elizabeth grimaced at this uncharacteristic lack of chivalry in the baronet, for Mrs. Dewey was by no means a small lady. But her frown was soon dispelled when he very quickly and very loudly repeated the comment to the governess.

"Go on, now Sir Gregory, I said that when I was your governess and I'll say it until the day I die," she boomed out laughing.

He chuckled good-naturedly and winked at Elizabeth, wryly observing, "Admit it Miss Bennet, you were determined to be offended by my ungallant statement. Are you really so quick to judge us poor men?"

Elizabeth laughed heartily at his shrewdness, and teased, "Only as quick as you men judge us poor women."

"Do two wrongs make a right in your opinion?"

"A swift judgment does not immediately indicate an error in judgment, you know. And in any case, gentlemen may be wrong in their first impressions of ladies but do not suppose that we ladies are as flippant or as flawed in our opinions of you."

"What about fickle?"

"Oh, well, fickleness is not as bad as you might think." She pursed her lips and arched her brow. "The tendency to change preferences makes us remarkably forgiving."

Sir Gregory's eyes danced as he gave her the victory. He smiled and Elizabeth found herself blushing under his merry, mocking gaze. Her eyes fluttered down as he continued to stare at her with that puckish, handsome grin. She had never met anyone who seemed to understand her wit so well, or in so short a time. A shadow crossed over her and she thought a cloud must have passed over the sun. She was wrong.

"Ah Darcy you finally grace us with your presence." Elizabeth fidgeted and colored. Why did she suddenly feel so guilty? In her distress she missed Mr. Darcy's reply. When she raised her head, he had his turned toward Georgiana.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam I thought you had business to complete but Lady Catherine does not qualify as business."

"Pardon me, Miss Darcy but I must interject my opinion in this instance and I hope you grasp the irony of that statement when you later reflect on the person in question. But I think your aunt qualifies as business. In fact, she qualifies as a great many things—far more things than even she supposes."

Elizabeth gasped that Sir Gregory would mock her ladyship in the presence of her family. She cast her eyes back up at Mr. Darcy to gauge whether or not he was offended. She couldn't tell. The sun backlit his face and the shadow obscured his features. When he spoke though it was in his usual haughty tone.

"I am well aware of the disagreements subsisting between you and my aunt, Sir Gregory. Take care not to air your grievances too hastily."

Sir Gregory looked more resigned than repentant, but muttered an apology to Darcy. He stood up and quickly excused himself, signaling the Vanguards to follow him. The set of his shoulders told Elizabeth that he had not finished detailing Lady Catherine's faults to her nephew. Curious by nature she longed to learn the cause of the animosity between the two estates but knew that she could never ask such a question, even to Georgiana. But thankfully Georgiana could ask her brother.

"Fitzwilliam, what was that about? And why did you have to talk to Lady Catherine during the picnic?"

"An old feud started by his father and our late uncle. Nothing of importance. As for your other question, our aunt had," his eyes flicked to Elizabeth and then to the baronet, "concerns that needed to be resolved."

"What concerns?"

"We can discuss it later, Georgiana."

"Very well, but…but Fitzwilliam, you will tell me, won't you?" Georgiana lowered her quivering voice. "For I can tell, it was about me wasn't it?"

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth and then back at Georgiana, "Do not worry yourself, you have done nothing wrong."

All of a sudden Elizabeth found the light blue floral print of her dress fascinating and trailed her finger along the designs. She easily perceived that Mr. Darcy had more to say to Georgiana than he would ever say in her presence. Vaguely she wondered if his aunt knew of his intentions towards her—she had not forgotten the general rumor going round of Miss de Bourgh's and Mr. Darcy's prearranged engagement. But Mr. Darcy would hardly confide in Lady Catherine about his designs on a woman, unless that woman was her daughter. He was no fool. And why would her ladyship's disapproval bother her? How could it when she doubted her own approval of his intentions? No, there had been something else in Mr. Darcy's look.

A sudden sadness distilled like dew onto her happy spirits. That look had been of worry not for himself but for Georgiana. Had Lady Catherine learned of Georgiana's growing companionship with her? Elizabeth knew her ladyship would disapprove of an attachment between herself and the nephew but until this moment she had never supposed Lady Catherine would really mind an attachment between herself and the niece. But it must be so! Elizabeth's blue mood abruptly switched to red. The pompousness of that woman!

"Elizabeth, are you quite well? You look almost purple."

Elizabeth breathed deeply and bit back the anger. Trying to hide her state of mind with a laugh, she stood up and brushed at her skirts. "It is nothing Georgiana. I must have been sitting too long. Would you like to go on a walk with me? I see some tempting little trails over there in that grove."

"Oh, I would love to Elizabeth but I already promised the Vanguards I would play pall-mall with them. They are already setting up."

Elizabeth turned to where Georgiana was pointing and saw the Vangaurds, the baronet and another couple picnickers jamming metal arches into the soft grass. The Rae boys were also readying for the match—by chasing Mrs. Dewey with the wooden mallets. Elizabeth twisted her mouth and sighed. She had played the funny little sport before but would prefer to explore.

"If Miss Bennet does not object, I will gladly accompany her."

Elizabeth slowly dragged her gaze to Mr. Darcy's face. A subtle energy animated his dark features.

"We can have one of the footmen act as chaperone."

"Oh, Fitzwilliam, what a lovely offer," Georgiana cooed, clapping her hands. "Elizabeth would be delighted".

The bright smile she then beamed at Elizabeth made the slightly older woman wonder if she had just been outfoxed by the slightly younger woman. Smiling bemusedly at Georgiana's sudden reappearance of last night's poise, she couldn't help but prettily shrug her shoulders and accept.

Georgiana almost bounded away, Mr. Darcy summoned a footman, and within a breathless minute they were weaving their way through a dainty little path in relative isolation. The trail was too narrow for them to walk side by side and after a brief exchange, Elizabeth led the way. Mr. Darcy followed her quick steps up the hill. The footman lagged behind. The arrangement made conversation difficult; a hardship none minded. The lady transitioned from anxious thoughts about what Mr. Darcy might be plotting and annoyed thoughts about what Aunt Catherine might do if she had indeed been chastising Mr. Darcy for allowing Georgiana to befriend her. The gentleman's thoughts were unpleasant as well though for slightly different reasons. The sluggish footman was merely thinking how soon he could sneak away for a kip—which he soon did when he spotted a cushy-looking patch of grass off the trail.

Forging the way ahead, Elizabeth could almost forget her nervousness and her annoyance and allow the sounds and smells of the wooded trail to carry her away. The late afternoon sunlight filtered a greenish glow through the canopy of early blossoms and leaves. Robins and jays already hopped from branch to branch, singing their welcome melodies. The air stirred with the crispness of spring and the promise of summer. When at last she reached the top she did forget her companion and swung her arms wide open, inhaling the fragrant breeze and delighting in the expansive view.

"Beautiful," she exclaimed. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Not as striking as the Peaks but an agreeable vantage point all the same."

Her arms dropped as her awareness returned. The loveliness of the view lay before her but failed to lull her rising unrest.

"It is charming, Mr. Darcy."

"Yes," he stepped beside her and swept off his hat. His dark hair curled in the soft gusts buffeting the outlook. "I thought you would enjoy it Miss Bennet."

"Thank you."

The two stood on the precipice for a moment without speaking. Elizabeth tried again to lose herself in the scene but found it increasingly difficult. Mr. Darcy would not be still. He tapped his foot, drummed his fingers and kept whipping his head from her to the sky. Finally on the brink of exasperation, she turned to him and was surprised by the frustration evident even in his face. He caught her wondering eye and quickly blew out his breath, saying in a tense, hurried voice.

"Miss Bennet, it will not do. I apologize but I was too precipitous in stating my intentions last night. I should not have excited your hopes. It was wrong of me and I am sorry for my lack of circumspection."

Elizabeth hadn't known what to expect when he opened his mouth but she knew it was not that. She moved her lips as though to respond but had nothing to say. Her baffled shock had ripped away her words and she stared at him in wonder.

An annoyed look slashed across his face when she failed to speak. Turning away, he asked in a strained tone, "Have you nothing to say?"

His obvious irritation moved her as nothing else could.

"There is an established mode of refusing an offer of marriage but I do not know of one for accepting a withdrawal of…of intentions. Please, Mr. Darcy, tell me, what would you have me reply?"

"I am trying to do the honorable thing, Miss Bennett." His accent possessed none of its usual solemnity, its tenor rising with each passing moment. "I spoke too soon and with too much disregard for my responsibilities, my standing in society, nay even my sense of honor and intelligence when I declared myself to you last night."

If he had been hoping to help his cause those were not wisest words to choose. Her dull bewilderment quickly accelerated into outrage.

"Declaration? Is that how men of your _standing_ declare yourself to a gentleman's daughter? By a whisper in a crowded room?"

Color rose in his cheeks and he haltingly replied, "I do not know what other men do. I can only speak for myself."

"Pardon my frankness Mr. Darcy but clearly you cannot even do that."

Her eyes snapped as she glared at his frown. His veneer of restraint was becoming thinner and thinner but Elizabeth was past caring. What right did he have to show his temper? Blood coursed in her veins and pooled in her cheeks.

"Just what hopes did you believe yourself to have excited Mr. Darcy?" He slapped his hat across his thigh and began to pace, refusing to meet her eye or reply. Such a reaction could only make matters worse. "I would hate for you to apologize for something that was never necessary. To condemn yourself for injuries never inflicted. _My_ sense of honor will not allow me to leave you to suffer under the burden of false guilt."

"False guilt?" He cried, waving his hat and stalking towards her. All remoteness vanished. "Do you expect me to believe that a man of my position and property making a declaration to you excited you not at all?

Elizabeth involuntarily stepped back, but her anger would not bow to his. She did not cower at his approach.

"Position and property are of small importance to me. The greatness of them has no effect on the greatness of the man. Of that you can be certain I now heartily believe."

"You are absolutely right Miss Bennett, wealth does not reflect the value of a man, just as a dowry does not reflect the beauty of a bride. But those platitudes miss the material point—we are not speaking of imaginary persons this time. We are speaking of ourselves." Darcy paused only a foot away from her and searched her face. The intensity in his eyes changed from furious to fervent. "Were you really only speaking in jest when I overheard you the other day? I cannot believe that. I will not."

The heat in her face cooled into embarrassment. He had heard her joke about making him her husband! Flustered Elizabeth responded without thinking, as embarrassed people often do.

"I should not have been so glib. My humor has never been so mistimed. Even so I had no way of knowing that you would overhear me or indeed that you had any designs, let alone serious ones, on me."

He started and stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. "You had no idea of my admiration? No, no wish for my declaration?"

"No, sir, not until last night."

"And now, do you still jest? Do you make light of my feelings? Please be frank, does the fact that I love you mean so little to you?"

Her wrath rapidly wilted under the ardor in his eyes. She could not return his gaze and fumbled for a response. Love? He had never mentioned love before. Jealousy, even affection, she had anticipated and accepted as reasons for his designs on her, but love? Had she even thought him capable?

"My lady do not choose now to deny me a direct answer. Is all my struggling for naught? Would you…would you even accept my hand if I offered it to you?"

As mortifying as this exchange was for her, she did not forget how very humiliating this must be to a man like him. And if the moment had not been so pitiable she might have laughed at hearing that amount of astonishment in any one's voice. Mr. Darcy had clearly never considered the possibility of her refusing him.

"Miss Bennett?"

Steeling herself, she raised her eyes.

"Mr. Darcy just as you did not wish to excite my hopes, I do not wish to excite yours. I cannot tell you what I would give you for a response today but I can tell you that up until a week ago it would have undoubtedly been a no."

A quick succession of emotions tore across his face—incredulity, mortification and finally indignation. He clenched his hands and she could tell he was struggling to compose his temper.

"Will you do me the service," he clipped when believed he had mastered his anger, "of satisfying my curiosity and tell me the reasons for your former disapproval and present uncertainty—of course it is of little importance now."

"Do you sir intend to answer me as to why you think an attachment to me would be in opposition to decency, to duty, and even to your own mind?" He looked taken aback by her passionate response but she pressed on, "But know that such an attempt to explain yourself would be as futile as it would be redundant. I have no wish of hearing more of your conversation and see no reason for me to explain myself to a person who is so wholly unconnected to me. Now more so than before. Do not forget that we began this discussion by _your_ disavowal of _your_ intentions. Intentions which I can honestly say I am grateful to be acquitted of ever needing to endure."

Her words knelled with finality; thunderous claps in the mild March wind. The two stared at each other, one pale and the other flushed. At length Mr. Darcy moved. He brusquely bowed and put his hat back on.

"I thank you for your frankness Miss Bennett and will release us both from any more vain professions. Please forgive me for taking up so much of your time."

Much to her astonishment, he offered her his arm and tersely said, looking in the other direction, "I believe the hour is growing late."

She hesitated and he turned his guarded eyes on her, "Despite your feelings Miss Bennett the hill is just as steep on the way down as it was on the way up. I beg you will allow me to escort you back to the others."

Summoning a courage she did not feel, she quietly accepted his arm.


	6. Chapter 6

To say that the closing of the picnic passed as comfortably for Elizabeth as its beginning would be an understatement. She could scarcely remain courteous and definitely not attentive; she smiled woodenly, laughed hollowly and at last feigned a headache when Georgiana pressed her on what was the matter. Mr. Darcy's habitual aloofness helped to disguise his troubled mind. No one commented on his sour mood. No one balked when he lobbed an occasional dry barb at the crowd, usually in the direction of Sir Gregory. As soon as the unhappy couple, along with the drowsy-eyed footman, had traipsed out of the wooded trail, the baronet had resumed his attentions to Elizabeth. Unsurprisingly the feminine gratification that she had felt earlier in the day when Sir Gregory had teased and talked with her had dimmed. It would not have been strong enough to withstand Mr. Darcy's cutting wit and unabashed eye prior to their disastrous conversation and it certainly was not strong enough following it. Elizabeth did not think she could take much more of either Mr. Darcy's coldness or Sir Gregory's warmth.

Finally, the tangerine sun dipping out of sight, the outing ended. Farewells were made, arrangements to meet again were set, and the Darcy carriage trundled down the country lane with two quiet young ladies as its occupants and a horseman trotting alongside. Elizabeth had never been so happy in her life as when she spied the outline of Hunsford cottage.

Still claiming to have a headache, Elizabeth escaped the keen observation of Charlotte and dashed up the stairs. Charlotte respected her friend's request for solitude too much to plague her with questions. She had waited all day for an explanation and she could very well wait until the morrow when Elizabeth was feeling better. Mrs. Collins could not deny that Elizabeth had looked remarkably pale when she came into the house.

Elizabeth thought she would have as sleepless a night as the one before but her overwrought nerves and sleep-deprived body gave way to the bliss of slumber. The moon kissed her furrowed brow with a dreamless, much needed rest. When she lazily woke up to the caress of the sun's rays she stretched luxuriantly, dazed and content until the memory of yesterday afternoon splashed cold discomfort onto her happy mood. Not another creature stirred in the house as she lay there and tried to avoid thinking. She suddenly craved exercise; the release of exertion and balm of nature. She threw off her covers, quickly dressed and slipped out the door.

The morning air nipped at her cheeks as she trotted down a forgotten path. Frost glazed the shrubbery and glistened in the early sun. Everything seemed so much clearer under the glow of a new day. Everything seemed so much simpler amongst the trees and birds and small creatures that accompanied her on her walk. She meandered between tree trunks and thought, kicked at stray rocks and thought, plucked and shredded low-hanging leaves and thought. When she finally plopped down on a mossy boulder, shrouded from view by a clump of trees, she had determined two things: First she did not regret anything she had said to Mr. Darcy yesterday and two, she did not know how she could possibly see Mr. Darcy again without betraying her distress. Clearly that gentleman could well hide his true feelings, but she did not think it was in her power to so easily conceal hers. Avoidance would not have been a problem but for her growing relationship with Georgiana.

For a moment she thought of confessing all to her friend but how to even broach the issue? Georgiana must have some suspicions, if not actual knowledge, about her brother's (now former) interest. Had her previous comments not confirmed that? Perhaps, she ought to divulge a part of what had passed between herself and Mr. Darcy to Georgiana. It would not be pleasant but how to explain her reluctance to socialize, without Georgiana suffering and believing herself disregarded? How else could she possibly ignore the brother and not snub his sister?

As Elizabeth weighed the advantages and disadvantages of such a desperate confidence, she heard quick steps on the path behind her. Slowly her mind registered the voices—the girlish soprano and the rich baritone—she clutched at the rock where she sat. To her dismay, the persons stopped right behind her involuntary hiding place. It was too late to make her escape. If she moved now they would see her.

"Please, dear, will you let me finish?" Mr. Darcy asked.

"I don't want to hear it Fitzwilliam. It's positively dreadful!" Georgiana cried, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Georgie, please, can't we return to the house?"

Georgiana sobbed in response and Elizabeth almost rushed out to see what the matter was. Instead she clutched her skirts and cringed, hating her predicament. Georgiana continued to cry and Elizabeth could tell from the muffled sounds that her head must be buried in her brother's coat. The tender privacy of the moment as she heard Mr. Darcy softly soothing his younger sister was not lost on Elizabeth's unsettled mind. It pricked at her heavy heart and for the first time she experienced a twinge of remorse for what Mr. Darcy must be feeling after yesterday's argument. One woman calling you out and the other crying on you! He must be overtaxed with emotion. She bit her lip and blushed. If only she could sneak away!

"Oh, Georgiana, I had no idea this would affect you like this."

Georgiana sniffled and mumbled something Elizabeth could not hear. Darcy answered in an equally hushed voice. Suddenly new thoughts started to whir in Elizabeth's mind. New, frightening suppositions sprang up.

"Do you…do you think there is a chance at reconciliation?" Georgiana asked.

"I think it unlikely Georgiana," Darcy replied, a tremble in his own voice. He cleared his throat. "At any rate, now that Aunt Catherine knows, reconciliation is neither here nor there."

"Then I have lost a friend. A very dear friend."

Elizabeth heard Georgiana's skirts begin to brush along the gravel path. Were they leaving now? Now when she needed to have her belief confirmed or refuted? Once again she had to command herself to remain concealed.

"Your friendship does not need to change, just your expectations my dear." Darcy's advice sounded more like a plea than an affirmation. "I will not allow her ladyship to deny you a friend. I made myself very clear to her yesterday and again last night."

"If only that were true," Georgiana moaned. "I will try for you though brother. You shall see. Do not despair."

"Well, then don't look at me with so much despair." A light laugh came from them both as they moved away.

"Come, let us get inside the house, Georgie." Mr. Darcy said. "It is Easter morning after all. Which reminds me, why were you out here so early? I had to search all over the grounds for you."

Their voices were drifting away with their measured footfalls. Elizabeth could not hear the reply; it blended with the early morning sounds. She would not have been able to remain still for much longer though. Her heart pattered painfully against her chest. She could not believe what she had just overheard. The warning against eavesdroppers was not exactly true in her case, she had not heard anything necessarily evil about herself, but she had not heard anything good either. And her rational mind could not deny that they had indeed been discussing her. Of whom else would they speak in such a manner?

Astonishment overwhelmed her that a brother would talk so frankly with a sister, but nay it must be so. A kind, thoughtful brother Mr. Darcy must be if he opened even his heart to his young sister. Elizabeth was even more determined that despite the awkwardness she must endeavor to talk with Georgiana. The girl already knew the particulars and it might make her feel better to hear from Elizabeth what had transpired. Today was Sunday and she would find an opportunity after the services to speak with her friend. After several, restless minutes, she slowly strolled back through the parsonage gates.

* * *

After Mr. Collin's sermon—which had preached as much against the Whigs as it preached in favor of the Apostles—Elizabeth boldly approached the Darcys and struck up a conversation with Georgiana. If Mr. Darcy suffered discomfort from her relative nearness he did not betray his heart. A brief nod and a cold shoulder was all the recognition she received from him. Giving him the same cool courtesies, she asked a very distracted Georgiana if she would like to take a ramble with her before tea.

Georgiana cast her eyes up at her brother before hesitatingly accepting. Elizabeth informed Charlotte of her plans and Mrs. Collins happily shooed the two young ladies away as she and her husband conversed with Lady Catherine. Even in her distressed mood, Elizabeth dimpled and shook her head at her scheming friend. If only Charlotte knew how right she had been! And how ultimately meaningless that rightness was! She had managed to avoid talking with Charlotte since the picnic but knew that postponement would not be much prolonged.

Soon Elizabeth and Georgiana ambled along an open path in Rosings, away from the hustle of the parishioners. The trail cut through a wide meadow and wild flowers dotted the grass with color. Dark trees edged along the grassy expanse. Elizabeth made silly conversation, trying to play and chatter with a lightness she did not really feel. When Georgiana failed to laugh at her most recent attempt at levity, she frowned and knew that she must not dither. Steeling her resolve, she rested her hand on her friend's slender arm and halted her dreary gait.

"Georgiana, I can see that you are not yourself today." Her large, doleful eyes blinked rapidly at Elizabeth. "Please, can you not tell me what is bothering you?"

Georgiana sighed and turned away, wisps of her chestnut hair escaped her bonnet and she nervously flicked them away from her eyes.

"Oh, Elizabeth, I wish I could but I cannot. It is not mine to confide."

Elizabeth hesitated but in a rush of determination, followed through with her purpose, "Perhaps not, but it is mine. And I can tell from your behavior," there she had to indulge a little untruth, "that you are already aware of what has transpired."

Georgiana stiffened and looked back at her. Her face was aglow in a blush of surprise.

"How…am I so easily understood? Are my thoughts so plain?"

Elizabeth squeezed her friend's shoulder, a placating smile on her lips. "Not to others, but surely you must know that to a person so intimately involved in the matter your wounded heart would be perceived."

"But, but…"

Georgiana's smooth brow wrinkled in confusion and Elizabeth hurried on. "It is all for the best. You and I shall remain friends. I promise your brother and I will be able to meet as calm and indifferent acquaintances—possibly even better behaved than before. He will soon recover and so shall I."

Georgiana's bewilderment only deepened and she asked, "What do you mean Elizabeth? Recover from what?"

Elizabeth plucked her hand away. Fear tickled down her spine. Could she have been too impetuous? Had she misunderstood what she had overheard?

"Elizabeth, please, you must tell me. Is Fitzwilliam ill? Are you? From what must both you and he recover?"

Several thoughts flew through Elizabeth's mind but she could not grasp onto a single one. Georgiana's perplexity was devolving into panic.

"Oh, nothing, I only meant…I spoke too soon, that is all." She laughed a false, high chortle.

Georgiana was not fooled. Those wide, childlike eyes were watching her, flashing with intelligence and intuition. They gleamed and flew open even wider. Georgiana let out a soft "oh" and clamped her hand over her mouth. Both their faces flushed. Elizabeth felt as mortified as when she had unintentionally eavesdropped. Wordlessly she beseeched Georgiana to understand, but understand what she did not know. Her timid friend was the first to speak.

Georgiana drew her hand away from her face and shakily said, "Please, I know I cannot ask you to betray the trust of my brother but you have revealed just enough to disturb my peace. Am I to understand that my brother…" Georgiana swallowed loudly and inhaled deeply. "I believe I am not overstepping my bounds by stating what I think you must already know, dearest Elizabeth, that for sometime Fitzwilliam has preferred you to any other woman of our acquaintance."

Elizabeth could not continue to meet Georgiana's miserably sincere expression and lowered her gaze. It was so much worse to hear of Mr. Darcy's tender affection from such a tender, unassuming creature as his sister. It made his plight so much more endearing, and so much less repulsive. It was stripped of arrogance and affectation, laid bare in guileless eloquence.

"He has never spoken so highly of any women, certainly never written to me of any lady like he has of you. I am no simpleton either. I have seen the world, more of it than I would like. I could tell you were unaware of the extent of his interest but now, now I must believe that you are unreceptive of it as well."

The more Georgiana spoke, the more her words stuck together. Heavy pauses hung in between each phrase. Elizabeth heard Georgiana shudder lachrymosely and lifted her face. Tears etched the rims of Georgiana's eyes in silver.

"Georgiana, I apologize for forcing this confidence on you. I had thought he had confided in you. I was mistaken. I should not have troubled you so." She could not go on. Her friend's expression was pained, more pained than even the brother's at his lowest moment yesterday. Elizabeth wished to move on but Georgiana had not finished.

A tear leaked down her face as she whispered, "So you will not be my…my sister?"

Elizabeth hardly knew how to reply. Concern for Georgiana swept away her own fears and worries. Her ability and desire to explain more flew away with it. All she could do was shake her head. Without another word but with a wretched sob, Georgiana gasped and spun away, leaving Elizabeth stranded in the peaceful meadow feeling anything but at peace.


	7. Chapter 7

Days passed without Elizabeth seeing anyone but the Collinses and anything but the inside walls of the parsonage. As if to mirror her miserable mood, dark clouds had scudded into the sky over Kent and gloomily remained. On the fourth day of the steady downpour, in as low spirits as she could recall, Elizabeth sat tapping her fingers on the window sill, totally abandoning any attempt to appear cheerful. Maria and Charlotte had not so despaired, and chatted about bobbins and lace in the sofa opposite her dejected perch.

"Oh, but Charlotte do you think this trimming now looks at all like what Miss Darcy's did last Sunday?"

Charlotte muttered her encouraging but definitive negative and caught Elizabeth's eye, adding softly, "I'm sure Lizzy could help you, Maria, she has a way with ribbon that quite escapes me."

Maria sighed and threw the bonnet into the basket of scraps, "But, Lizzy wasn't even there on Sunday when we all went to Rosings. She had a headache."

Charlotte raised her brows at Elizabeth and then bent her head over her own sewing, her skilled fingers looping the thread effortlessly as she thoughtfully replied, "True, but Lizzy did see Miss Darcy just before tea, and I daresay even the likes of Miss Darcy do not wear more than one bonnet for a single afternoon."

Elizabeth glanced back out at the sopping shrubbery and flooded garden and rolled her eyes. She knew Charlotte was only trying to be helpful. Her friend did not know all of the reasons behind Elizabeth's uncommonly melancholic air, but she did know enough. Late Sunday evening after the Collinses and Maria had returned from their time at Rosings Elizabeth had grudgingly answered Charlotte's inquires with as much truth and as little detail as possible. Elizabeth had confided in her that there had been a serious misunderstanding between herself and both the Darcys. The subject had not been discussed again, though Elizabeth could easily tell that her friend wanted to know more and had already intuited more than she had been told. Elizabeth would not be goaded, however, no matter how much her clever friend had divined on her own. And certainly Charlotte ought not to bate her with the lure of helping Maria. Elizabeth drummed her fingers a little longer on the cold, blurry pane and sighed. Bating or not, she should try to make herself useful and help Maria.

"Come, Maria," she said, smiling and reaching out her hand. "Let me see if I can't craft you a trimming fit for a duchess, let alone a Darcy of Pemberley."

Maria's plain face lit up with innocent delight, "Oh, bless you Lizzy."

She snatched up her basket, the bonnet still dangling out, and scooted a chair closer to Elizabeth. Charlotte mouthed a silent thank you and Elizabeth shrugged, feeling a surge of goodwill and utility that she had not felt since her conversation with Georgiana. The three ladies sat and sewed, trimmed and talked in the quiet, cozy back parlor of the parsonage for half an hour when Mr. Collins swept into the room, bringing excitement and alarm.

"My dears, my dears! Come, you must come at once!"

Elizabeth and Charlotte placidly looked up, Maria jumped and dropped her stitching and Mr. Collins fatuously clapped his hands. From the narrow hallway a man's deep chuckle suddenly echoed. Before Elizabeth could place the familiar voice, Mr. Collins scuttled back, bending over and nearly bumping the unexpected visitor in the abdomen with his hasty obsequies. A harried-looking butler slipped into the small room, navigating around the grinning guest and his groveling master to formally announce the arrival of Sir Gregory of Cumberbatch.

The baronet swiped off his drenched hat, water spattering onto Mr. Collins and the butler, and bowed with a burlesque foppishness. His blue eyes brimmed with amusement as he laughed, looking in wonder at Mr. Collins, "Upon my honor, Mr. Collins, if I ever need to make an entrance I will call upon you to accompany me."

Mr. Collins bowed even lower and gravely replied, missing the sarcasm, "It would be _my_ honor, sir."

The baronet stifled his laughter this time but turned a twinkling eye at Elizabeth and winked. She blushed and bit her cheeks to stop from smiling, a task rendered more difficult as the baronet insisted on making faces at her whilst her cousin endeavored to make introductions.

"Please forgive me for my wet dishabille Mrs. Collins," the baronet repeated, accepting a chaise and some tea. He had already been at the parsonage for a quarter hour but had only just been able to sit, since Mr. Collins had only just finished making his excuses that he had a prior engagement with her ladyship. "I had some urgent estate business that could not be neglected another day—despite the rain—and remembered I would not be more than a few miles from your home."

"We are honored by your kindness in thinking of us." Charlotte replied, picking up her sewing. "Elizabeth told us how delighted she was to have made your acquaintance and now my family and I share the same sentiment."

"Delight is a wonderful place to start, I would say." The baronet sipped his tea, his eyes locking with Elizabeth's over his raised cup. "But I hope it's not the very same sentiment as Miss Bennet's."

Not for the first time, or the last, heat overspread her cheeks and she had to focus on her sewing with much more diligence than usual.

The baronet and Charlotte maintained a steady, unremarkable conversation on the neighborhood, the parish and the weather. Maria had not said a word and had barely budged an arm since sitting down to watch Sir Gregory and her sister converse. She stared at him, or rather at the puddle pooling at his feet, and clung to the ribbon in her fingers during his entire visit. Elizabeth supplied an opinion every now and again but hated how flustered she became under Sir Gregory's impudent looks and grins. She was used to teasing not being teased. At last after a very impish insolence by the baronet, Elizabeth unconsciously cast her sewing aside and turned her pretty face toward him.

"What a pleasant neighborhood Hertfordshire must be," Sir Gregory addressed to the room, glancing in her direction. "I must make my way down there when next I go to town."

"It has no particular attraction but for those of us who were fortunate enough to grow up there, I would think. Nothing to town, I assure you," Elizabeth said, meeting his gaze head on.

"I am surprised to hear you say such a thing," he leaned toward her. "From all that I gathered in our previous conversations I was under the impression that you did not approve of town."

Charlotte softly laughed and shifted away, resuming her stitching and retreating from the banter. Elizabeth curved her mouth in mild amusement. How quick Charlotte was to forgo the pursuit of Mr. Darcy for that of a title!

"And where did you learn of my dislike for London?"

"From yourself, my lady. Indeed I would say that as a man who is usually in London this time of year I felt almost chastened when you remarked the other week that too few of the gentry and ton know what spring looks like on their own lands. Come now, does that not speak of a preference at least?"

"When has a preference for the country required a disapproval of the town, sir?" she said next, still wearing the same playful expression. "There is nothing in London that I admire as much as I admire a good view and a pleasant walk but that does not mean I dislike the views and walks in town."

"You are trying to trip me up I think Miss Bennet—you are being far too diplomatic for my meager understanding. Let's be done with nuance. Tell me, would you prefer the twitter of a swallow to the aria of great singer?"

"Neither. I prefer the song of a lark."

Much to her surprise he did not laugh, but gave her a penetrating look before responding, "Yes, a lark in any form would be your preference, but I must believe that does not mean you do not appreciate things of a more serious nature from time to time."

His ambivalent comment mixed with his intense stare unnerved her. A flush of red trickled up her face and she mumbled some acceptable, rushed response. She once again concentrated on her stitching, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with her needled. He continued to gaze at her for a minute before directing another few inquiries at Charlotte and very soon took his leave. Elizabeth was grateful that Charlotte did not seek to entertain her with more bland, mercenary bits of advice. In Elizabeth's opinion, her friend's expression upon the baronet's exit had been quite enough already.

Elizabeth's mind had been so preoccupied with thoughts of Georgiana and Mr. Darcy that up until this unexpected visit by Sir Gregory she had not given him even a cursory thought as a real suitor. Mr. Darcy setting him up to be some sort of rival for her affection had been as shocking to her as it had been absurd. Yet now, she could not deny that Sir Gregory was putting himself forward in a bold, slightly bizarre manner as an admirer. What else was the meaning of this visit? This event now coupled with his attention to her at the picnic made her certain of his esteem, and raised her own esteem of him within the next few minutes. Who could harshly judge such a swift, steep climb in her affection? To be regarded and admired by someone is always flattering. The easy, natural interest in her by Sir Gregory especially soothed whatever lurking injury that Mr. Darcy's brief, callous affection had inflicted on her vanity. By the time Mr. Collins tromped back in, dripping with water and praise of her ladyship's condescension, her feelings had gone from surprise to delight to excitement.

The next day the rain finally petered to a pleasant drizzle. Sunshine broke through the clouds. Elizabeth ignored Charlotte's warning of mud and puddles and escaped into the fresh, tingling air with a bounce in her step. She jumped over stiles and hopped over logs, shrugging when the mud splashed up her boots and hummed as gusts of wind sprayed over her cheeks. Her musings as she wandered about this spring day were as pleasant as her last stroll's thoughts had been dreary. She had not let the baronet's fancy overtake her fancy so much that she was planning her wedding trousseau but she was planning for and looking forward to seeing him again. Although nothing definite had been fixed, he had more than hinted he would call again soon. Her eyes were bright and her complexion rosy, a laugh on her lips, when she turned a sharp corner in the lane and nearly collided with Mr. Darcy.

She gasped and he balked. Each muttered apologies and pardons. Neither met the other's eye. The two stood in the lane for a silent, tense moment until Elizabeth briskly nodded and gathered her skirts to rush away.

"Miss Bennet," the gentleman called, halting her retreat. Reluctantly she turned back around.

"Mr. Darcy." She looked at the mucky lane instead of his face. When he said nothing, she slowly raised her head. His expression surprised her: earnest, polite and somehow softer than ever before. Her glance turned into a gawk and she unknowingly opened her mouth.

"Miss Bennet," he said and took two steps nearer to her. "I cannot let this opportunity pass me by without speaking of something that I am sure neither of us would wish to remember, however; I fear such a chance meeting as this is not likely to be repeated."

The brightness of her cheeks deepened and her pulse began to quicken. Her uncomfortable but compliant silence spurred him to continue, his tone gathering some of its stately timbre.

"Do not be alarmed madam that I am seeking to repeat any of our conversation from last week. I do not demand your attention for myself. I know that the rain has importuned all but the most desperate to venture out of doors these last few days but I must say, you must allow me to ask that you do not alter your behavior toward my sister because of our situation."

Elizabeth, who had felt the brush of annoyance grate against her at his opening, suddenly experienced a much gentler stirring of emotion. With her face still aglow in the luster of exercise and embarrassment she met Mr. Darcy's cautious eye and said in all sincerity how very much she appreciated his assurances and encouragement of her continued intimacy with his sister. A small waver crept into her voice as she asked, "Has Miss Darcy spoken to you at all about…me?"

He scrutinized her timid expression and indifferently answered, "Only that she wished the rain would stop so she might see you. She is in rather low spirits, even for her but said that seeing you is all she needed to feel well again."

Elizabeth smiled, a swell of relief lightening her heart. Dear, sweet Georgiana! She was not angry with her. She did not despise her! Mr. Darcy noticed the play of emotions flitting across Elizabeth's face but did not comment.

Soaring from this happy thought she declared in a playful, almost flirtatious way, "I will call on her this very afternoon, if you think the ladies at Rosings do not mind a bit of mud on their parlor floor."

Involuntarily Mr. Darcy flicked his eyes down to her dirt-splattered petticoats. An oddly bittersweet expression warmed over his face and he trailed his gaze back up to her face. His piercing eyes drove away her composure. Formerly such a brazen glare would have made her think he was judging her but now she suspected such scrutiny signified his adoration, not his dislike. At the moment she would prefer his dislike—it had not made her heart pound and her head dizzy. His acute stare did not waver as he said in an even, bland tone, "I leave it to you Miss Bennet to determine when it is best to come. It is enough that I can ensure Georgiana that you intend to see her as soon as the weather or your whim sees fit."

He abruptly bowed and stepped aside, "Good day, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth watched him spin around, his movement and air as adroit as a soldier. He had already turned the corner when she shook her head and muttered, "Good day, Mr. Darcy."

Try as she might, for the remainder of her walk, she could not keep her thoughts from turning away from Sir Gregory and towards Mr. Darcy.


	8. Chapter 8

Elizabeth had not really intended on calling on Georgiana that afternoon but when she came out of her ambling reverie she discovered that the large, many-windowed Rosings mansion was towering over her. The countless windows reflected opaquely in marble-sky outside. She lifted her shoulders, a careless gesture of resignation that belied her light mood, and headed toward the front door.

She was ushered into a smaller parlor, a quaint, tasteful room with a pretty prospect of the back lawn and a shroud of vines creeping over the window. In it sat Georgiana at an older piano playing a sad, little melody. She suddenly stopped, the notes ringing discordantly, and rushed over to greet Elizabeth.

"Oh, I knew the rain could not stop you!" she cried, stepping away from Elizabeth with a bright grin on her slender face.

"Indeed it could not." Elizabeth undid her bonnet and looked around the unlavish décor in unabashed wonder. "Georgiana this is a delightful room. Whatever is it doing in Rosings?"

Georgiana stifled a giggle, her cheeks flushing all the same at Elizabeth's teasing.

"It is the governess's waiting room. It is not used much and though the piano is less grand I prefer the sound to the one in her ladyship's front parlor."

"Mrs. Jenkins does not mind?"

"No not at all, although I suppose if she did I would never know. I don't believe I have heard her put more than two words together the entire time I have been here this spring. All the other ladies in the house are laid up with a cold in any case, even Mrs. Jenkins."

"How abominably dull for you and sorry for them." Elizabeth attempted to put the tiniest bit of sincerity into her inflection. Her mind immediately wandered to how her ladyship must despise being ill and delight in informing the apothecary how he ought to cure her of her ailment.

Georgiana sat down on a plush, worn sofa and Elizabeth followed suit. The warm wave of welcome and greetings was passing and a slight chill of awkwardness swept into its place. The two ladies smiled consciously at one another. The light eyes of Georgiana darted away as soon as the dark ones of Elizabeth caught their attention. After a silent, nervous minute of this bizarre communication, Elizabeth blew out her breath and in her usual frank, gentle way began.

"Georgiana, much might be said between us but whatever you wish to tell me or do not wish to tell me, rest assured that I am your friend and was from the bottom of my heart relieved and happy to learn that you did not detest me."

Georgiana, who had been playing with the lace around her shawl started and shot her doleful eyes up.

"Detest you! How could I detest you Elizabeth? It is I who am at fault. You confided in me something, which you may have been induced to tell me based on false premises, but what did I do? I accused you and ran away. I am only glad that you forgave me and understood my abominable behavior to be nothing more than an expression of my silliness and childishness."

A smiled flitted around Elizabeth's lips.

"Silliness perhaps, but I know more than a handful of mature ladies and even gentlemen who behave in a much less circumspect manner than you did the other day."

Georgiana looked doubtful and ruefully replied, "I think that would help me be more at ease in society if I had as much luck with my sphere of society."

It was on the tip of Elizabeth's tongue to allude to Mr. Darcy but she restrained her wit and flashed an encouraging smile at Miss Darcy instead.

"You will just have to content yourself with the silliness you do encounter, among your current acquaintances."

"It is not entirely my immaturity either that caused me to abandon you in the field last Sunday." The feeble soprano voice trembled. "I was much overcome with some…news that I had learned earlier in the day."

Her fair companion did not stir or speak but Elizabeth's mind whirred with the sudden expectation that she may be on the brink of understanding at last what her eavesdropping had woefully deceived her of. Georgiana sighed and looked past her. Elizabeth leaned in.

"Do you believe people can change Elizabeth?"

Surprised by the question, Elizabeth nevertheless answered without much pause. "Without a doubt I know people change. I am just not entirely certain that change is often for the better."

Georgiana nodded absently and Elizabeth continued, "Moving in a rather small circle myself I have had to find sport in observing the changes in those few who surround me. As a study of character it is my only means of amusement but I assure you I have not thus been disappointed in my small pool of friends' mutability."

Georgiana bent her flaxen head down and whispered, "Disappointment in my small pool of acquaintances seems to be my lot in life."

"Whatever is the matter dear?"

The young girl flipped her face up, tears welling in her eyes and said in a much louder voice, grasping Elizabeth's arm as she had while confessing her affair with Wickham, "I know I told you that this confidence was not mine to share but it presses on my heart as though a boulder were there. I am silly, or childish, Elizabeth. A lady would not feel so forlorn as I do. She would not break the trust of a friend."

Despite Elizabeth's desire to know this secret she willed herself to say, "Then you ought not to break a trust, especially of a friend."

A tear splashed onto Elizabeth's wrist and an array of distressed wrinkles lined her friend's face. Georgiana looked pained and then abruptly released her clasp and drew herself up. She smoothed the water and furrows from her expression and turned away, muttering, "Yes, yes, you are absolutely right. You have never even met this person. She is no one to you. I shall be well." A tragic smile curved over her face as she turned back around.

"Thank you for coming. I will not burden you needlessly. Only allow me to tell you again that I am sorry for the way I acted the other day. I should not have said those things to you. Fitz…my brother would be mortified if he knew of my reaction. He would be mortified if he knew I knew at all, I think. He has not told me anything. He never tells me anything of import—not when it might make a difference."

A hint of petulance crept into her repentant tone and her false smile faltered into a grim line. Elizabeth wanted to say something to pull Georgiana from her evidently dreary mood but could think of nothing. Fortunately her companion stopped herself. For a long moment the only sound disturbing the peaceful back parlor was the patter of the rain. Elizabeth stared out the window. The light mist of her walk had reverted into a thick current of rain.

Soon a few forgetful comments were made on the weather. Elizabeth's and Georgiana's mutual amiability was renewed. A Scottish duet was shared. Elizabeth sang, only agreeing to her friend's request because she thought Georgiana could use the joyful revival of music for her sagging spirits. The lively, light song ended with a final, happy swell and an impromptu outbreak of laughter.

"Would you stay for dinner Elizabeth? Aunt Catherine's cook makes the best Yorkshire pudding I have ever tasted. I need to see if she can't give the recipe to the Pemberley cook, Ms. Potts. Hers is a dreadful, black lump that I hate."

A sudden shadow crossed over Elizabeth. Dine with Georgiana at a family table? At a table with Mr. Darcy? She bit her lip as she struggled to articulate her sentiments without offending Georgiana or broaching such a sensitive topic so soon after their pleasant reprieve.

"You can't very well go out in this rain and if you do not sit with me I will be left alone. I have not seen Fitzwilliam all morning."

A knowing glint peeked out from Georgiana's eyes when Elizabeth smiled and readily agreed to try some of that famous pudding. Her hesitance again completely dissolved into gaiety and giggles.

The two ladies did their best to sample each of the cook's delicious courses but failed to more than try a spoonful of the second and third plates that weighted down the table. Long after the last course had cooled untouched on their forks they remained in the room. They chatted and smiled, ignoring the storm without and embracing the solitude within. At first Elizabeth had jumped every time a servant had entered the dining room, certain it would be Mr. Darcy come to annoy and embarrass her, but as she continued to converse with Georgiana with the flickering light of candles and the orange warmth of the hearth fire she forgot even her apprehension of meeting him.

"I will have to beg Lady Catherine to convince her cook to part with her recipe. Yorkshire pudding is my father's favorite and I think he would prefer this to the one our cook makes. He has no complaints for now but he might if he had tried this."

"I am all for you asking. It would spare me the need to confront my aunt. She frightens me so."

"Well, then that is all the more inducement. Come, I think I must be off. Charlotte must be worried and it looks as if the rain has paused again."

"But it is terribly wet outside. Let me call a carriage."

Elizabeth stood and brushed her skirts. The spattered mud had crusted and she frowned at the sight. Her desire to keep her toes and petticoats dry won over her initial instinct to refuse the carriage.

"If it's not too much trouble."

Georgiana leapt up, looking overly pleased to be given the chance to serve Elizabeth and eagerly clapped her hands. "No, no problem at all. I will ring for a footman."

The carriage was requested and Elizabeth and Georgiana slipped out into the arched hallway. Their easy conversation flowed into the entry way with them. The lightness of their tone and words were at odds with the severity of the décor. The opulence of the house overwhelmed Elizabeth, but the grandeur did not inspire a feeling of awe so much as a feeling of oppression. It was too heavy, too rich, too majestic. In short, it was too much.

The deep, carved door swung wide open and instead of a footman there stood Mr. Darcy. A shiny gleam of water coated his clothing. His hat drooped as he swung it off. The silvery sheen of rain glinted off his dark hair, the brown curls turned into black crescents that framed his face. Tiny rivers trickled down his brow and dripped off his jaw. A curious, intense expression flickered before he recovered and shut the door behind him.

"Fitzwilliam! Where have you been? You are drenched through!"

He shrugged out of his sopping overcoat, handing it and his hat to a waiting servant and took a proffered towel. Drying his hands, he approached the stunned ladies.

"I was out for a ride when the storm returned. Poseidon nearly broke his ankle but we managed to make it to the stables unscathed though as you pointed out Georgiana not untouched by the rain. It's nothing but mud on the grounds."

For the first time he looked at Elizabeth. A veneer of cool cordiality blanketed his wet features. Elizabeth lifted her chin ever so slightly, the easiness chilled away by his stare.

"Miss Bennet, I am afraid it is impossible for you to venture out in this weather. I caught the footman readying the carriage in the stables and informed him instead to find a way to send a note to the parsonage that you will be unable to return there this evening."

Elizabeth colored, stammered, and clenched her fists. She looked at the floor, at Georgiana, at anywhere but at Mr. Darcy. Why could he not leave her be? What gave him the right to sentence her to a night of imprisonment at Rosings?

Grudgingly she swallowed her anger and carefully replied, "I am sure it is not that much worse than earlier this morning. And while I cannot be accused of being overly cautious nor can I be imputed with a tendency to act dangerously. If it is too hazardous for horse hooves I believe I may walk without much incidence." She forced a laugh. "It is clear these petticoats are already horribly ruined. Another walk will do them no more harm."

"I am not concerned with anything but your health being harmed Miss Bennet."

A tight thank you eked out of her lips. She sensed her plight was being heard but would not be heeded. She glanced over at Georgiana but was disappointed by her friend's averted face. She clearly would not be induced to contradict her brother's edict—no matter how haughty or officious he might be.

"Perhaps we might wait an hour or two for my departure. It is barely evening."

"Perhaps but it is already as dark as evening. No, I must insist you remain here. The storm has not passed." At that moment a roar of thunder rattled echoingly in the large entryway. An overt smugness smeared over Darcy's face. Elizabeth suppressed the urge to stamp her foot or stick out her tongue. What sort of man was he to think he commanded the skies? His conceit must know no bounds!

"I will inform her ladyship of your presence Miss Bennet. Georgiana may direct a maid to ready you a room. She ought to provide you with a change of clothing as well. If memory serves me right you have at least one dress of hers that fits you well. I am sure she can locate another."

Elizabeth blushed under his unabashed eye. He spun on his heel and headed up the stairs. Georgiana finally faced her. Her lips were puckered and her hands cradled her cheeks. A merry glow shone out of her eyes. Some of Elizabeth's anger instantly dispelled.

"I am sorry Elizabeth that you are displeased with staying but do not hate me because I am glad."

Elizabeth twisted her mouth into a half-smile. "As long as you do not hate me because I am not, we shall remain friends."

A quarter hour later she plopped onto a cushy vanity chair in a sickeningly, austere and gaudy guest room. Someone knocked on the door and she called for them to enter. A maid curtseyed and shuffled into the room, a fine, silk dress laying across her arms. As she was dressing for supper she asked the maid if the ladies of the house were feeling better. To her chagrin she was informed that only Lady Catherine felt well enough to sup at the table. When the maid exited, Elizabeth pinched her cheeks a little too hard. She tried to summon her charm and laugh at the situation but her humor failed her. Slowly she stepped out into the hallway, the dress's silk cool and calming against her skin. She wondered how she had ended up stranded in another large manor with no better male company than Mr. Darcy. Blue lightening flashed against a nearby window and the rain spattered loudly against the thick pane. Unwittingly she thought, chewing her cheeks and glaring at the storm outside, "Even if he does look handsome in the rain."


	9. Chapter 9

Elizabeth entered the main drawing room with a touch of apprehension. To her relief, Georgiana stood alone by the instrument. Her pale face warmed with soft colors as she smiled up at Elizabeth. She called hello, lifting some sheet music.

"Have you heard this piece by Beethoven? It's divine."

Elizabeth walked over to the piano and studied the melody for a moment before responding that if it were to remain divine she had better not touch it.

"You are too hard on yourself. Your expression is so effortless. It's like watching a ballerina dance."

"You are not hard enough on me, although I did notice you avoided mentioning my execution." She raised her brows and Georgiana started to interrupt. "Nonsense, it proves both your wisdom and your kindness. I always fudge my way when it gets tricky and you are good enough at the piano to notice it and good enough at heart to ignore it."

Georgiana did not laugh but she did smile. They moved to the sofa near the corner window. The spring storm had grown outside; a melody of thunder and rain sounded dully in the background. Elizabeth sat down, adjusting the massive folds of silk around her form. She eyed Georgiana and noticed that her dress was elegant but simple.

"Georgiana what are you trying to accomplish by lending me gowns I could never afford? I know you are not vicious and so I must believe you are doing it without design."

"They are the only dresses I have that will fit your figure." Elizabeth sensed Georgiana was not being entirely forthcoming. She would not look her in the face.

"You have many blue gowns," Elizabeth observed, gliding her palm over the cerulean silk. "Is it your particular favorite?"

Her question elicited a quick shake of the head. Georgiana pivoted toward the window and toyed with a tendril of her hair curling behind her ear. This response turned what had been nothing more than cursory curiosity into a nagging interest.

"I am surprised," Elizabeth mused. "The dress you wore only this morning was blue, as are both gowns you lent me. If it is not your favorite why do you have so many? Not that it matters, of course. One would think white cotton is my favorite based on my wardrobe, instead of red."

Her fair, young friend's subtle fidgeting flustered into outright nervousness. When Elizabeth had done, Georgiana clasped her hands, wringing them tightly and confessed agitatedly, "It is not my particular favorite but it is the favorite of my…my brother."

Elizabeth's teasing smile faded and without thought she mumbled, "So you did loan it to me with a design in mind."

Her slight discomfort from wearing such an expensive, revealing dress spread from passing to severe. The flush on her cheeks warmed into a bright crimson. What would Mr. Darcy think of her now? Would he think she was vying for a return of his addresses? Would he believe her to be so common as to sink to these sorts of base allurements? She barely heard Georgiana's timid apologies. Absently she patted her friend on the wrist and muttered a distracted acceptance of her contrition. She did not blame her; she blamed herself for not wondering before.

Suddenly an unpleasant thought soared through the haze of her anxiety and she asked in a low rasp, "Tell me did Mr. Darcy purchase these gowns for you?"

The woeful blush on Georgiana's face was answer enough. No wonder he recalled the dress she had borrowed for the ball. Not only had he been an admirer of her that night—he had bought the very gown.

"Oh, I must change before supper," she cried, leaping to her feet and yanking Georgiana with her. "Dear, dear friend I am not angry with you. I know your intentions must be good but they are sorely misplaced. Please you will right every wrong by lending me a different dress."

Georgiana nodded, stuttering a stream of regrets but as the two stepped toward the door, their exit was blocked. Lady Catherine stood framed in the doorway.

"Oh, good, you are already here, Georgiana. I was hoping to catch you before we eat." She swept into the room, commanding an idle footman to straighten up his posture and another one to stoke the fire. She made no other comment, not recognizing Elizabeth at all, as she inspected the room and circled around to a large chaise near the grate. Georgiana slumped and walked to a sofa nearby her aunt. Elizabeth hesitated but, her own shoulders sagging a touch, trailed her friend.

"It is dreadfully drafty in this room if they do not keep a blaze of three or four feet high in the hearth," said Lady Catherine in her usual curt tone. "You cannot know how many times I have educated my staff on this point. It seems a most obvious fact to me."

She did not pause for any reply before at last swiveling her beady, regal eye onto Elizabeth, "So Miss Bennet we are to give you shelter tonight. I hope you appreciate the rare gift this is."

Elizabeth offered her thanks and replied that she did indeed appreciate the rarity of this opportunity.

"Yes, well, it seems my niece and you have taken quite a liking to each other. I suppose it is not too terrible a thing."

Elizabeth was surprised. She had thought Lady Catherine _had_ disapproved—and vocally. Had she misinterpreted more than one conversation? Had Mr. Darcy's delay to the picnic not been because of her increased intimacy with his sister? Too weary of trusting her own instincts she decided to withhold any judgment at present. Her wondering concentration made her almost miss out on hearing Lady Catherine's final comment.

"Young ladies need companions and since Anne is ill Georgiana must find some companionship. As long as you ever maintain your consciousness of rank, Miss Bennet, your friendship ought not to degrade my niece too much."

Georgiana blushed at her aunt's poor manners but Elizabeth managed to appear unaffected and even reply, "Thank you for you approval, ma'am. It is a relief."

Lady Catherine declared a few more meaningless ruminations on the importance of choosing companions with care. Elizabeth assumed her ladyship was merely aimlessly venting but wondered if it might have a more specific purpose as she noticed her friend growing more and more withdrawn. Her pale face blanching whiter and whiter.

"Now take Miss Darcy's dismal history for example, Miss Bennet. Her first lady's companion was released from her duties—for stealing I believe though her brother has never confirmed it—and her second companion has run off with my own brother's steward! It's an outrage!"

Elizabeth's wandering attention snapped back to the livid-faced Lady Catherine.

"Please aunt," Georgiana begged, "we are not supposed to talk about it. My brother has—"

"Your brother, my nephew, has had the gall to ask that I act in a manner wholly unbefitting to my station, my education and my rank. That Mrs. Annesley was supposed to chaperone you and conduct herself so as to instruct you how to behave in society. Instead she has abandoned her duties, abandoned her position and thrown herself into the arms of a man of inferior birth and questionable morals. It is my obligation to demand my brother fire that man and teach his artful wife—if he has made her his wife yet—to know her place."

Georgiana looked miserable. Her large eyes suddenly shined with silvery liquid. Elizabeth wanted to help but her thoughts were slipping through her mind like sand through fingers. Unable to think she could hardly speak. Mrs. Annesley? Who was this woman? Was she the friend Georgiana had spoken of as recently as this morning? Was she the subject of the conversation she had overheard behind the hedgerows? The pleading, anguished expression on her companion's sixteen year old face screamed out a definitive yes. But that made Elizabeth all the more confused. Why would Georgiana be so upset about a friend getting married? Elizabeth did not put much stock into Lady's Catherine's flippant criticism that the bride and groom in question were immoral. So why the almost guilty expression on her friend's face?

"We still should not speak of this in the presence of company, ma'am," Georgiana quietly urged, casting a furtive, dejected glance at Elizabeth.

"Miss Bennet cannot mind learning the ugly truth about the state of our society. It is pernicious and perilous, with debauchery and intrigues everywhere. This is why I did a thorough inquiry into Mrs. Jenkins history. And she has proved an invaluable friend to Anne. Your brother ought to leave such matters to me."

"Unfortunately, aunt, the law stipulates that my cousin and I hold that distinction and carry that responsibility."

All three ladies jumped. None of them had noticed Mr. Darcy's approach. Elizabeth wondered how he continued to sneak up on her. His deep eyes stared unwaveringly at his aunt. There was reproach and indignation in them. From their previous discussion, that had been more argumentative than polite, Elizabeth could easily perceive the amount of effort he was commanding to keep his temper in check. Her position on the sofa angled her to observe him very well. The fire cast his profile into stark relief. His jaw muscle moved with a steady pulse and his hands were fisted behind his back. Lady Catherine's surprise had worn off and she returned her nephew's quiet glare with a withering, imperial scowl.

"The law does not account for the delicacy of raising a young girl to become a young lady, Darcy. It is not a question of legal duty or rights; it is an issue of decorum and tradition. See here," and to Elizabeth's horror Lady Catherine gestured to her, "Miss Bennet's own family is a perfect example of what can go awry in a family without proper tutelage. Her gentility I am told is not universal amongst her sisters. And she has informed me herself that all her sisters—all her sisters—are out! How can polite society possibly function with these sorts of floutings and disregards?"

Elizabeth rose, her chest heaving with concealed rage. She would not sit through anymore of this. Coolly she interrupted Lady Catherine.

"Indeed your ladyship it is a wonder society has not come to a crashing halt. Of course do not despair we are yet young. One of my sisters may accomplish it. Or if I am very lucky, I will achieve such notoriety."

Georgiana's hands flew to her mouth. As she spun around and brushed past Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth thought she saw him smirk. Quickly she headed back to the piano and started violently thumbing through the sheet music strewn around the top of the instrument.

"Now I never!" Her ladyship exclaimed, recovering her voice.

Elizabeth braced herself for a reprimand but from the corner of her eye she watched Mr. Darcy lean over his aunt and whisper something into her ear. When he straightened, Lady Catherine loudly opened her fan, waving it wildly across her face, but did not say another word.

To her utter astonishment the gentleman then approached her. She stiffened as he drew very near. His face as close to hers as when she had stumbled into his embrace at the ball. Her heart raced treacherously and her fingers started to shake traitorously from nerves instead of anger. His peculiar bittersweet scent was mixed with the fresh fragrance of rain.

"Please accept my apologies for my aunt's behavior. I believe she is overwrought from her recent cold and the excitement of our visit. I would not have you be uneasy at Rosings."

Elizabeth fumbled with the pages, thinking that if he did not wish her to feel ill at ease he had better move away. Instead she forced levity into her tone and airily replied, "It is nothing, Mr. Darcy. My family's reputation is of little consequence. Rest assured, we do not need to be loved by Rosings in order to be happy."

She finally looked him full in the face. Her heart stilled oddly and uncomfortably in her chest. He did not immediately draw back but looked at her intently for a breathless moment.

"No," he said turning away and tapping his fingers on the piano lid. "I am well aware that you do not need to be loved by Rosings in order to be happy Miss Bennet. Well aware indeed."

He bowed, a hasty jerk of his back and returned to the sofa with his sister. Elizabeth remained at the instrument. The howl of the storm was no longer a pleasant symphony but a dissonant cacophony. Its tenor matched the noisy, straying thoughts whirling in her mind. She had too much to think of and too much to feel. She wished supper was already past and she could seek refuge in that lavish mess upstairs. From that tale of Georgiana's companion to the last cryptically suggestive confession by Mr. Darcy her concentration rocked back and forth. She was drowning in apprehension, curiosity and confusion.

A few minutes later, Lady Catherine rose and announced that after all she was much too fatigued to dine and would take supper in her room. Elizabeth wished she could do the same. As her ladyship glided out of the room, she deigned to nod to Elizabeth. Her head was lifted but her back was bent slightly, hinting at some wounded pride.

The butler soon entered the drawing room and announced supper. Georgiana took the arm of her brother. Elizabeth meant to follow their lead from behind but instead somehow found her fingers tentatively hooked around the other elbow of Mr. Darcy.

The heavy dress rustled loudly against his trousers, making Elizabeth all too aware of her appearance and his presence. It reminded her that she had not been able to change out of this dress before he saw her. The remembrance brought a brilliance to her cheeks that if she were aware of she would have tried hard to dim. The effect of the pink flesh and the shimmering blue shed a lovely luster over her complexion. It drew all the more the acute gaze of the one whose notice she wished to avoid. Naturally Mr. Darcy did not directly compliment her on her dress or face but she blushed throughout supper at his lingering, trailing eyes. First when they had stepped into the brightly-lit dining room, and later from time to time once they had sat down for what would turn out to be a very long and very silent meal.


	10. Chapter 10

It took Elizabeth a few drowsy seconds and a very startled gasp to remember why she was waking up in an unfamiliar, mauve room. Sighing heavily she pushed the covers away and walked over to the window. The view overlooked the side yard of Rosings and she thought that if she looked very closely she could spot the smoke curling up from the parsonage's chimney. Although she knew it could have just as likely been a pillar of fog creeping up over the damp, misty countryside. Unawares she wrapped her arms tightly across her chest. She nearly laughed that she should be missing the antics of her cousin and the chatter of Maria so much.

Last night after supper the evening had dragged on as though pulled by a lame mule. The gentleman had lingered long enough to hear Georgiana play a couple sonatas, excusing himself shortly thereafter. But comfort was not to be enjoyed even once his imposing figure had left. Georgiana had swung back and forth between playing morose melodies and apologizing to Elizabeth for—Elizabeth had lost count of how many things exactly: her Aunt Catherine, her miserable mood, her audacious selection of gowns to loan her. The list dragged on as indefinitely as the evening. Futilely Elizabeth had tried to steer Georgiana's thoughts into other paths, to reassure her that all was well and at last had simply hugged her and pretended that the storm had made her especially fatigued and she craved nothing more than a bed and sleep.

The bed had come but sleep had not. For hours Elizabeth had listened to the thunder shake the roof and wondered at the odd story Lady Catherine had unceremoniously divulged. With no real information but the patchwork tidbits shared by her ladyship or overhead the week earlier, Elizabeth could only surmise one thing: that Georgiana considered the sudden marriage of her former lady companion to be both tragic and somehow her fault. But in all the apologies of last night, Georgiana had not even alluded to this Mrs. Annesley. Of all the things on which Elizabeth would have liked more explanation she was left with nothing but curiosity and a feeling of powerlessness. For she felt certain that if her friend would simply open her heart on this matter she would be able to assuage the culpability and charm Georgiana into smiling over a match of love instead of convenience. Elizabeth had preferred to muse about this enigma because it saved her from the puzzle that was Mr. Darcy.

What sort of man defended the actions of a nobody like Mrs. Annesley or a steward and yet despised the silly pretentions of her matchmaking mama or the lowly squire station of her father? Who reneged his attentions to a lady one week and the following week reprimanded his imposing aunt for doing the very same thing? In Elizabeth's mind he was a conundrum of the worst kind—the kind she could not figure out. A conundrum she still could not decipher even in the lightness and freshness of morning. Throwing her hands up she walked away from the peaceful, foggy scene and resolved again not to think about that man. She had failed last night and she would not fail again this morning.

One of the maids had already brought up her dress, cleaned and pressed, and not wanting any assistance or fuss Elizabeth quickly buttoned it up herself and hurriedly twisted her thick hair into a simple knot. It did for church most Sundays and it could do for a breakfast at Rosings. Smiling at the wet, sunny grounds and her surprisingly rested-looking appearance she fled from the bed chamber to the unexpectedly airy breakfast room. Unfortunately it was occupied with only one other person—and it was not the Darcy she had hoped to run into before returning to the Collinses.

"Good morning Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth curtly nodded at Mr. Darcy. He sat back down and flapped open a newspaper in front of his face. She poured herself a cup of tea and grabbed a piece toast from the sideboard. Hesitatingly Elizabeth seated herself across from him. With any luck he would read during the entire meal. Fortune was not her companion though or grace her ally.

"At Netherfield you preferred coffee to tea in the mornings Miss Bennet," he observed, folding his paper and setting it beside his plate.

The unprompted comment had stopped her mid-sip and some tea escaped her agape mouth, dribbling down her chin. His expression remained bland, a stark comparison to her colorful one.

"Are your preferences seasonal or is the tea in Kent more to your liking?"

Elegantly, embarrassedly she swiped the tea away and summoning her courage, replied, "All preferences are seasonal, Mr. Darcy. Tastes are by nature determined by our surroundings. Do you think any Englishman really prefers port to claret? Or gin to wine? Our palates are the slaves to what is within our reach."

She hardly knew what she had said by the time she had finished. Her tongue had trusted her wit to carry her along; her attention occupied by his probing gaze. He did not immediately reply and so Elizabeth took a bite of her toast. She scanned the large room, seeking out a distraction from his dark eyes.

"I might agree with you Miss Bennet."

She shot her bright eyes to his face. The haughty inscrutability of it made her nervous and at the same time emboldened her. Something about the curve of his mouth taunted her.

"Might Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, I might agree with you. I certainly agree with you about the superiority of claret and wine to port and gin. Although I cannot side with you that it is our surroundings alone that dictate our tastes. You forget that what is without the reach of one man is within the reach of another, though they stand in the same place. Means alter the availability and abundance of selection. A wealthy man has a longer reach than a poor man."

"That is as it happens, sir, but you are forgetting one crucial point. I did as well and so I must amend my original statement."

"Pray enlighten me."

A smile teased around the corner of his mouth at Elizabeth's unwitting arched brow and tilted head.

"Preference is not only based on what we can acquire but what we care to acquire. Experience plays as much a role as availability. And in my experience, good coffee is much harder to come by than good tea. I am very pleased I did not venture out and go with my bias for coffee merely because there is a pot within my grasp."

"You are absolutely right this time Miss Bennet. Experience makes all the difference. It even supersedes desires."

The sudden drop in his tone suddenly made her wonder if they were really discussing their palates and not their hearts. She grew uncomfortable under his resolute look. But whatever he was truly thinking or referring to he did not seem willing to say more. Soon he turned back to his newspaper. Quickly Elizabeth finished her tea, scalding her throat.

As she excused herself from the table, Georgiana came in. With haste and resolve Elizabeth declared she would be setting out for Hunsford. Her friend cried out that she need not rush off so soon. Polite but firm Elizabeth stayed true to her decision and Georgiana conceded, demanding in her simple, timid way that Elizabeth at least take the carriage.

All this was done in the presence of Mr. Darcy and although he did not look up again from his paper, even in her hurry Elizabeth knew he was listening more than he was reading. For as Elizabeth begrudgingly accepted the ride, he stood and stunned both ladies by offering to accompany Miss Bennet to the parsonage himself. He had already planned on leaving and using the Rosings livery this morning, seeing her safely off at Hunsford's gates would not disrupt his plans and in fact permit him to depart at the predetermined hour. Elizabeth objected but was ignored by the brother and more than pressed to agree by the sister.

Much too soon she found herself seated again across from Mr. Darcy. The sticky wheels rolled loudly in the fresh mud as the carriage trundled to the parsonage. Afraid her nerves and discomfort would soon best her she decided to speak up.

"If you are premeditating any further inquiries into my tastes, Mr. Darcy, I should warn you that it will prove rather dull. And without any inducement I will tell you in the strictest confidence that I prefer a plain dish to ragout."

She laughed conspiratorially when she said this, but the smile on her lips abruptly faded into a grim expression at the frown on her companion's brow. She leaned back as he leaned forward.

"Miss Bennet, there is much that could be said between us—and perhaps even more that should not be said—but regardless of what your feelings may be for me, I feel honor-bound to justify my actions to you."

Despite her earlier musings, she suddenly realized she would rather he remain a puzzle than to endure this conversation. Darting her eyes out the window she whispered, "Please, sir, it is best to let some things remain in the dark."

"And others to come forth into the light. I had thought of writing you a letter, but I knew this morning that I would rather see your reaction than wonder what it might be should you understand my motivations only in print."

"Really, you have no need to feel obligated to offer me any apology or information."

"Please, Miss Bennet," he nearly interrupted. " _Obligation_ has never compelled me to say anything where you are concerned."

Elizabeth slowly turned her wary eye on him. His eyes and posture possessed all the animation they had lacked last night. The same sheen of energy glowed on his face as the day he had withdrawn his declaration. It was enough to silence any more of her protestations. He took the cue.

"Believe me, I am as unused to justifying my actions as I am to needing to retract my words." He must have noticed the sudden color in her cheeks for he quickly continued, "I know I said yesterday morning that I would not broach this uncomfortable subject on my own account but I cannot in good conscience sit in your company and know you think ill of me—and perhaps better of others."

Elizabeth struggled to maintain a sense of equanimity under his ardent scrutiny, but fidgeted terribly as he paused to watch her reaction. She knew he awaited some reply. With difficulty she told him she was listening.

"Although I do not entirely understand you, Mr. Darcy," she frankly added.

He laughed wryly, swiping his hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic signal of agitation. "No I imagine you do not, and that is my fault Miss Bennet." His hand dropped and some of the light in his eyes did too. "I suppose I should thank my aunt for sharing with you the story of Mrs. Annesely. It is a topic I wish I never had to speak of again but the nature of her elopement and the character of her husband complicate the issue at hand. It is why I was late to the picnic. Lady Catherine learned of the marriage only that morning. She, like me, was less than pleased."

"Because he is a steward?"

"A steward of an earl's estate is a respectable station and perhaps an elevation for Mrs. Annesley, who is a widow of small means." He could not entirely hide his contempt at her assumptive disdain, at the way her eyes had flashed with accusation for his pride. She shifted with unease again but did not avert her gaze.

"This steward, a Mr. Crolls was once the steward of Cumberbtach," Mr. Darcy's eyes narrowed on her, as both their minds thought of Sir Gregory. She managed to hold Mr. Darcy's stare without too much fluster or flush. "My aunt disapproves so heartily of the baronet that she disapproves of Mr. Crolls."

Elizabeth composed her face and measured her voice with caution. "It seems more than unjust to dislike a servant solely because he used to be under the employ of another."

"Justice has little to do with these matters. Yet, Mr. Crolls is not without fault. Suffice it to say he has more than the usual amount of vices and I could forgive or ignore them all if he had not involved Georgiana this time. "

He leaned again toward Elizabeth who involuntarily scooted to the edge of the carriage bench, her curiosity winning over her discomfort.

"Why does Miss Darcy blame herself—why does she disapprove of the match?"

Mr. Darcy studied Elizabeth for a moment, her blush ever rising. Why could she not demure as Jane would surely have done and claimed it was none of her business? Curse her fickle need to know! She settled back into the chaise as the carriage came to a halt. Both turned their faces. The parsonage loomed before them. Sun broke through the low-hanging fog with blinding glitter over the cottage's roof.

"Perhaps a letter would be better," Mr. Darcy muttered almost to himself, drawing her attention back to him. He looked resigned and distant. "I do not know how much to tell you or how little, but yes, as you have astutely gathered, my sister feels guilty that Mrs. Annesley is married to such a man. It relates to, to a tragedy she herself nearly suffered this last summer."

Elizabeth opened her mouth, ready to confess that Georgiana had confided in her about Wickham (for what else could the near-tragedy be?) but Mr. Darcy in an unexpected surge of feeling, asked, "Will you read a letter should I write it? Will you give it due credit, though it comes from a man you despise?"

She could not look at him. That would be impossible. Elizabeth could not see how beautiful, how tragic, his handsome face appeared when all pretense and pride had been cast aside by the vulnerability of unrequited love. Grasping out at the carriage door, she nodded and in a tight voice replied.

"I do not know what you wish to accomplish. I already know of Mr. Wickham's dealings with your sister. She told me herself."

"She did?"

Again Elizabeth nodded, her pale fingers cold against the door.

"I will read your letter." She paused and turned to him. "I do not despise you Mr. Darcy. How can I? I am only lately realizing how little I even know you."

He said nothing and she could say no more. In a flurry of movement, she alighted from the carriage and ran up the parsonage steps. The simple blunders and poor manners of her cousin fell upon her in pleasant relief as soon as she entered the door. Foolish men were much less tiring than clever ones.


	11. Chapter 11

There is a fine saying which has been bandied about, be it in times of good or times of bad, for a very long while. It is simple and concise, as all expressions ought to be. And for Elizabeth it perfectly described the thoughts she was experiencing, sitting in Charlotte's back parlor with Mr. Darcy on her right and Sir Gregory on her left: Too many hounds on the hunt and the fox gets eaten before it gets caught. She was the fox.

The two gentlemen had arrived at nearly the same time, shuffling and parrying their way down the hall. The footsteps had sounded as the hooves of the apocalypse to the startled Elizabeth. Charlotte had been looking over her menus for the next week and she had been reading a book of poetry. Over the past couple days, reading had been the only activity that could entertain her mind, to keep at bay useless meditations on when Mr. Darcy would arrive with his letter and what it might contain. Walking could not help her either, she had feared she would find herself in a lane with him and alone. Would he attempt to explain himself, to relate the history of his family connection to Mrs. Annesley and her husband again? Such a prospect daunted Elizabeth's courage. She did not think she could endure to sit face to face through such a recital. Two days ago in the carriage ride it had been uncomfortable and intriguing, stirring up her emotions and bewildering her senses. The sensations had left her bereft of reason and brimming with curiosity. No it was best to read the letter and not listen to Mr. Darcy. Yes, reading in general was a far better distraction than almost anything. And at this moment, caught between the fair Sir Gregory and the dark Mr. Darcy she would have much rather returned to her book.

"So sorry to hear Miss Darcy is now also feeling unwell, Mr. Darcy." commented Charlotte, eyeing Elizabeth with unreserved pity. "But I have learned from Mr. Collins that her ladyship and Miss de Bourgh are faring better."

"Yes, my aunt and cousin are in excellent health, excellent enough for them. Georgiana should recover with just as much alacrity." He paused and then said in a little less curt tone, "I hope Miss Lucas will soon be on her feet as well."

Charlotte thanked him for his concern and assured him Maria seemed to be on the mend.

"It must be some winter bug reluctant to hibernate for the summer," observed Sir Gregory. He lounged in his chair, diligently desultory in his air and pose. His eyes rarely strayed from Elizabeth, though if they did it was to look at Mr. Darcy. The baronet seemed to be the only one enjoying this haphazard rendezvous. He laughed and talked, and had even been brash enough to airily wave the bouquet of wild flowers he had brought along with him in front of Mr. Darcy's face, until Charlotte, with tact and speed, had placed them in a vase. Although the gentlemen had been at the parsonage for more than a quarter of an hour, Mr. Darcy continued to furtively scowl at the lopsided, lovely arrangement in the corner.

"Cumberbatch has not been immune," continued the baronet jovially, "although somewhat to my chagrin it has not affected the ladies so much as the men. Lady Felicia is as exuberant as ever, but her brother can hardly eat his soup. My brother too managed only just to report back to duty."

"I did not know you had a brother," Elizabeth turned to him, terribly aware of Sir Gregory's smile and Mr. Darcy's frown. "Does he live in town?"

"Roger? No, no, Miss Bennet. Like all good younger sons, he is ten times more useful than me and five times more loved. He is in the army." He dragged his blue eyes past her to the gentleman across the room. "By the by, how is Fitzwilliam?"

At first Elizabeth thought the baronet was referring to Mr. Darcy in a tone and with a familiarity she had not believed existed between the two men, until she recollected that Georgiana and Mrd. Darcy had told her that their cousin's surname was the same as Mr. Darcy's Christian name. Sir Gregory must be referring to _him._

"He is doing very well, last I heard," Darcy tapped his hat on his knee, "which was as recent as yesterday."

"I was sorry he did not venture into this part of the country this year. I always look forward to his spring time visits. He is the only member of your family I can trust to swing by my estate for an evening or two." Sir Gregory lowered his voice and shot his amused, pointed gaze back to Elizabeth, certain she met his stare. "Although perhaps it is best he did not come this year. His conversation is very engaging."

Elizabeth shuddered with embarrassment and pleasure, lowering her lashes. Color streamed into her cheeks and she toyed with the frayed binding of the book still resting in her lap. Sir Gregory was unlike any other man she had met. His manner was so different, yet somehow exciting and endearing. He could be mischievous without a shred of maliciousness, devious without a whisper of deceit.

"What book do you have in your hands, Miss Bennet?" Surprised by the direction of the voice, Elizabeth glanced up at Mr. Darcy. "If I may ask."

A deeper shade of red overwhelmed her flesh. Whereas Sir Gregory could tease and flirt with his charming wit, Darcy inexplicably drew her in with nothing but his eyes. At least, ever since she had known what those intent stares truly intimated. Fascination bordering on repulsion, however, could not be a good beginning for falling in love.

"It is a book of poems, Mr. Darcy."

"Yes, I suspected as much by the size of the book. Whose poetry exactly Miss Bennet?"

Her blush flew away with her nerves. Every time she verged on opening her heart up to this man, to opening her mind to reconsider his character he succeeded in pulling her away from the precipice of reevaluation. She could not think of a single conversation they had shared in the whole of their acquaintance where at some point his abominable pride had not seeped in and spoilt the discussion.

She arched a brow to disguise her disgust and was on the point of replying, when Sir Gregory interceded.

"Wait, Miss Bennet. What say you to making a game of this?"

She turned toward him, smiling uncertainly.

"A game," instinctively she chanced a peek at Mr. Darcy. Unsurprisingly he had withdrawn into the folds of his most reserved, unconcerned expression. "What sort of game Sir Gregory?"

"A guessing game, naturally." He beamed with the grin of a much younger man. "You will give us clues—read a passage or two—and Darcy and I will attempt to unwind the riddle of the poet who has captured your heart. Mrs. Collins can act as the judiciary."

"Oh, thank you but no, Sir Gregory. I fear I am an old married woman and would quite disappoint you as a participant, but I eagerly await being a silent observer."

Sir Gregory tried, but dismally failed at dissuading Charlotte from her inactive role in the little jest. Elizabeth's attention, however, had been circumspectly focused on the other man in the room. A room that appeared to be shrinking with each minute. Mr. Darcy did not look happy. Beginning to feel, if possible, even more uncomfortable and trapped, she decided to stop these festivities before they progressed into outright fisticuffs and openly decline. Again a gentleman's voice intercepted her turn to speak.

"Do you want to make a wager of it Sir Gregory?"

The baronet's smile twisted into an impish jeer as he shifted his gaze in the direction of Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth followed suit, rounding her mouth into an oval of surprise. Perhaps she could not read Mr. Darcy half as well as she had thought.

"Doth mine ears deceive me? Is Mr. Darcy of Pemberley actually deigning to gamble? Do you know, my ladies, that at Cambridge I never once heard of him so much as putting bets down on a game of hearts?"

"That is not entirely the truth," responded Mr. Darcy, a cool smile on his mouth. Elizabeth's gaze swiveled back and forth, unable to keep her eyes on either man. "Although I take pride in my reputation as a man untainted by the rumor of debts or gaming."

Elizabeth could not be certain but she thought she perceived a shadow cross Sir Gregory's face. The baronet soon recovered, if a recovery had been necessary at all. He laughed jollily and slapped his leg in anticipation. Charlotte started in her seat on the sofa and clumsily, though silently rethreaded her needle.

"How much Darcy? I warn you I have not much in my billfold at the moment."

"Oh, why lower ourselves to the common man and play for money? I was thinking of a more _personal_ prize."

"Even better," replied Sir Gregory. Elizabeth was uncertain if she liked where this game was leading. A look passed between the gentlemen and a very different one between the ladies: the former one of conceited calculation and the latter of alarmed amusement. Blushing but bold Elizabeth asked what precisely Mr. Darcy had in mind.

"As it is your book and your tastes, Miss Bennet" he emphasized the word 'tastes' and her mind shot back to their conversation from the other day, her eyes suddenly fluttering downward, "I suggest that whomever wins this contest be granted the privilege of purchasing you another collection, if available, by the same poet."

Elizabeth stammered and made a face at Charlotte to save her. How could she possibly accept a gift from either of these gentlemen? Neither had any claim on her. Infuriatingly, her friend rummaged in her scraps basket and had turned a deaf ear.

"Well, Miss Bennet, what do you say to this gentleman's proposal?" Elizabeth rolled her eyes from the grinning Sir Gregory to the bland-faced Mr. Darcy—bland albeit with a touch of challenge in his eyes.

"It seems hardly proper," she at last admitted, biting her lip. "I would much prefer not to be the recipient of a gift borne out of any sort of competition."

"Well, then I shall accept it and happen to lend it to you—indefinitely—Lizzy," intoned Charlotte from across the room, at last putting forward her opinion on the matter. "We can say it was a gift from the gentlemen to our family. Nothing would be amiss there and if all in this room are agreed not to quibble about true provenance and to forget this silly little deception we can get on with the game."

The baronet immediately latched onto Mrs. Collins' "delicious scheme," Mr. Darcy, after a long look at Elizabeth, merely nodded and the lady in question tiredly threw up her hands and announced with a wink and a sigh, "May the games begin."

"Sir Gregory may make the first guess," Darcy offered, a strange satisfaction on his face.

"Oh-ho," chortled the baronet. "I am not at all astonished by this gentleman's self-assurance but what will he do when he suffers such a loss? I refuse to accept your mal-intended generosity. You may go first."

Mr. Darcy resolutely declined. The banter swung back and forth between them for the next few moments. Elizabeth was half exasperated by their gesticulations, half amused by their taunts. Charlotte, again, eased the rising tension by making the gentlemen choose ribbons from her basket. The one with the shorter length would go second. Sir Gregory chose a red ribbon that might have wrapped around his waist. Mr. Darcy selected a blue one, hardly long enough to form a bracelet on his wrist.

By this point, Elizabeth had been given ample time to select the first stanza she would recite. This entire affair was ridiculous and her playful nature overcame her embarrassment. Her eyes twinkled and her cheeks dimpled as she secretively raised the book to her face, careful to hide the cover. Clearing her throat for effect, she read in a theatrical accent.

"Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds, Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores. And mountain crags."

Mr. Darcy's face suffused with a gentle light, but Sir Gregory's brow darkened. He asked her to repeat the line and rubbed his thumb along his chin. After a moment he tilted his head and asked, more than answered, "Wordsworth?"

Elizabeth gave him a sad, benevolent smile and shook her head. She pivoted to Mr. Darcy, remolding her face into the grave, dramatic lines. She never had the chance to repeat the performance. Mr. Darcy's rich baritone filled the room, melodious and elegant, reciting the remainder of the poem.

"Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth, with greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing," she turned to watch him, amazed and enchanted. His deep eyes did not break away from her face and she found she neither would nor could turn away from him.

"Will catch thine eye, and with their novelty, Uphold thy little soul—"

"Suspend," she whispered and softly raised her brows. "Suspend thy little soul."

A smile hovered on his lips and something more indefinable gleamed in his eye.

"Of course," he breathed and finished the last few lines, "Suspend thy little soul; then make thee shout, And stretch and flutter from thy mother's arms, As thou wouldst fly for very eagerness."

The poem ended. Mr. Darcy's voice trailed into the void of the room. She hurriedly looked away. Confused and a cold, warm tingle coursing in her veins.

'You know your Coleridge, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, shaking herself free of the compelling isolation in which his words had enwrapped her.

"I'll say," mused the baronet. His arms were folded and his eye brows reached high into his head. "I feel wrong-footed. You had an advantage over me, Darcy. I am sure of it."

Mr. Darcy slowly floated his gaze to Sir Gregory. Not a shade of compunction on his face.

"Isn't a bluff one of the preeminent tools of a gambler?"

Sir Gregory smirked.

"Touché, old friend." The baronet forced his face into a more pleasant expression. "I have extended my visit too long I fear. I must take leave of you all. However, I will be sending round an invitation for a night of games and supper within the day."

He stood and bowed first to Mrs. Collins and then to Elizabeth. He somewhat tersely nodded at Mr. Darcy. As Sir Gregory put on his hat, Elizabeth noticed Mr. Darcy withdrawing a small book, much like the one in her palm, from his suit pocket. She could see he was attempting to be discreet. She eyed the green little book as it slipped to the side of his leg.

"By Jove, Darcy, what did you just take from your pocket?" cried the baronet. Apparently she wasn't the only observant one in the room. Mr. Darcy's expression flickered with alarm before melting into disinterest.

"It is nothing," he replied.

"Come now, yes it is." Sir Gregory waved his hand, pointing at the poorly concealed book. "It looks just like Miss Bennet's. Is this some ruse you two plotted before my arrival?"

He pretended to jest, turning his head between the two of them, but Elizabeth had seen the resentment flare briefly in his face.

"No one has been consorting, certainly not the ladies." Darcy nearly sneered, lifting the book and carelessly dangling it toward Sir Gregory. "We're not in some novel. My sister informed me of Miss Bennet's preferred poet and asked that I deliver this copy of some more recent poems by Mr. Coleridge. That is all. Why do you think I made that wager in the first place?"

Elizabeth knew she had never spoken to his sister about poetry, but she tried to hide any astonishment she felt at hearing Mr. Darcy's easy lie—and realizing he had indeed been the one to somehow know of her love of Samuel Coleridge. The realization touched her with a soft, poignant sensation that she could hardly contemplate at such a moment. Sir Gregory stifled a grimace and overflowed with a false laugh.

"Well, that does explain your earlier confidence—I did think it a bit much, even for you."

"Quite," his companion dryly replied. Mr. Darcy moved to hand the book to Elizabeth but Sir Gregory deftly intercepted the attempt. Darcy's eyes widened, for the first time looking truly troubled. He glanced at Elizabeth and then at the baronet, who had turned away and was thumbing through the pages. Suddenly it dawned on Elizabeth that this book may contain more than a romantic poet's words. It must contain the letter!

Another meaningful look by Mr. Darcy and she knew her assumption was right.

"A gift from Georgiana, how thoughtful," she exclaimed, signaling to him that she understood his distress. "If you have finished, Sir Gregory, I would love to see which poems she thought I would enjoy. I hadn't realized a new publication had been issued."

"Oh, yes, of course, please excuse my rudeness." Sir Gregory spun around, a flash of white near his glove. An amiable smile spread over his face but somehow she no longer trusted its genuineness. "Here is your book, Miss Bennet."

He handed it to her, thanked Charlotte again and quickly exited the room. Trying not to alert Charlotte, whose sharp eyes were already narrowed suspiciously, Elizabeth flipped through the pages, empty but for her favorite poetry.

Mr. Darcy had stood, claiming a desire to view the gardens. It gave him the opportunity to hover over her. After twice searching through the pages and gleaning nothing but Coleridge, Elizabeth raised her head.

"Did you find any new verses to your liking, Miss Bennet?" he asked, with pale lips and cheeks.

"No, nothing new."

"I see." He clenched his jaw and faced the window. "I was certain there was at least one thing you had not read in that volume."

She stared back at him, unable to reply. How could Sir Gregory have taken her letter? All of a sudden every speech he had given and every droll word he had uttered seemed fake and two-toned. Would she ever judge another man with justice and accuracy on first introduction? She eyed Mr. Darcy with a new wonder. Out of all her acquaintances and despite his failings, he had only ever been what he claimed to be, even owning his pride. Perhaps pride was not so evil a weakness as she used to beleive.

He noticed her searching inspection but did not long remain. In as few words as possible, he departed, bowing and walking toward the door in one sweeping motion.

Charlotte blew out her breath when they heard his horse's hooves hard on the gravel drive. Elizabeth glared at the flowers across the room, a desire to toss them into the mud heavy on her chest.

"Well your father would have certainly enjoyed that," Charlotte said, standing up and walking over to Elizabeth. "He always loves to witness such folly and foolishness, does he not? To make sport of these sorts of things? I declare it was as though I was a spectator at a grand chase."

"Yes," Elizabeth sighed, squinting out into the sunny garden. "But foolery is never as enjoyable to observe when you are not _making_ sport, but are the _sport_."

"Poor Eliza," her friend soothed, smiling all the same.

"Indeed. I suppose I should be grateful, though." Elizabeth frowned and rolled her eyes. "At least they didn't mount my paw."

Charlotte laughed and motioned for her to join her in the dining parlor for some dinner. Elizabeth looked at her wrists and gripped the book in her hands. It was still warm from the heat of his body. She trailed her friend, more reflective than dejected, wondering how he had known she loved Coleridge.


	12. Chapter 12

To Elizabeth the meeting from yesterday and the events it had led to, namely the theft by Sir Gregory of Mr. Darcy's letter, were not so conclusive nor so comprehensible as she would have hoped. All her life she had been surrounded by, though silly and uncivil persons, sanguine, honest characters whose actions reflected their sentiments and whose words signified their thoughts. Her quick mind was too apt to pass judgments, perhaps, but in general she trusted that her impetuous impressions had not been amiss. That is, at least, until Mr. Bingley had let Netherfield and by extension she had been introduced to the likes of Mr. Darcy, had been exposed to the insinuations of Mr. Wickham and now had been deceived by the charm of Sir Gregory. And that first gentlemen, the affable and inauthentic Mr. Bingley, she stewed as she read Jane's most recent letter, had left her sister inflicted with pain and heartache. With difficulty Elizabeth attempted to sort out her thoughts without prejudice or passion; to asses the situation in as an objective and disinterested manner as possible. And to not curse all men as inconsistent.

Here was a change. True much of it was precipitated by her thoughts of her sister. Jane, dear, sweet Jane who she missed now more than ever, would have advised her to do so. Still Elizabeth did not realize how great a change it was for a person of her impulsive cleverness to withhold meting out judgments under any circumstance.

Earnest in her desire to not judge too harshly or too preemptively in this most recent case, she struggled to achieve any sort of peace on what sort of man would take a private letter in the presence of the intended recipient and the implied author. Had Sir Gregory read the letter? Had Mr. Darcy caught up with him, for she was certain that was where the other gentleman had fled to when he departed with so much haste. She had not truly been able to even think of what troubles may come should he catch up with Sir Gregory until she lay in her bed that night. Her heart had been too full, too active to allow for such contemplative refection. But when at last those terrible musings intruded into her more pleasant, albeit uncertain meditations on her altering feelings for Mr. Darcy, she could think of little else.

Would they duel? Would they battle? What exactly would they do? Answers could not be discovered soon enough, although the inability to ask the questions eliminated the possibility of those answers ever coming forth. It was maddening to know nothing; to suspect everything and everyone. She only knew that up until yesterday afternoon Sir Gregory had appeared to embody all that was intelligent, witty and sincere in a gentleman and now he seemed to possess none of those desirable traits.

The baronet had said he would send out an invitation for a night of cards but Elizabeth was astonished, or possibly only very distracted from remembering his intention, when a rider pulled up and delivered the invitation to all at the parsonage. Charlotte positively glowed with satisfaction and a sense of importance at receiving the invitation. Elizabeth for the world did not intend to accept but soon found that would be very difficult to manage as Charlotte asked the rider to remain long enough for her to write an expeditious and most enthusiastic acceptance to be present. For a few hours Elizabeth weighed telling her friend all, but at last dropped that desperate scheme. The party was for the following day, a Saturday, and she thought it very likely she would have no occasion to see anyone from Rosings until after the party at church on Sunday. If Sir Gregory meant to be both falsehearted and friendly she would rather determine her final opinion about him without the glowers of Mr. Darcy within her sights.

The remaining time in between receiving the invitation and riding up to Cumberbatch the following eve consisted of jumbled thoughts, frantic plans and ultimately little comfort for Elizabeth. Her one consolation was that she trusted Mr. Darcy would not be there. Her softening toward him had not reached the point when absence is rendered painful. It was a very slow, hardly aware sort of easing of prejudices and ripening of respect, materially hindered by the imbroglio with Sir Gregory and the letter. When the sweeping grandeur of the baronet's estate fanned out before her, however, she nearly forgave its owner for his deviousness. It was simply the most exquisite estate she had ever beheld: majestic without pretention, impressive without intention. A true edifice to praise men's craftsmanship.

"Lovely," breathed Elizabeth.

"Not as many windows as Rosings," commented Mr. Collins.

"Just don't decide on anything until you have a chance to see Pemberley as well," whispered Mrs. Collins, with a wry smile on her face.

A nervous laugh escaped Elizabeth's tight lips.

Maria said nothing—she was at home, still too unwell to attend, and at that moment was asleep in bed with a hot brick on her feet. Although, it is safe to assume she would have had no great insight to add to the exclamations.

Once inside the house Elizabeth conducted herself beyond reproach, managing to appear light-hearted, succeeding in diverting her attention from her distress and even talking to Sir Gregory without the least bit of alarm. Or so she believed. For those who had just been introduced to her, they perceived nothing wrong. It would have astounded Elizabeth, and made her laugh, to hear them describe her in the same terms most often ascribed to Jane: Lovely, amiable and reserved.

Throughout the night she moved amongst the crowd, careful to smile but rarely speaking and ever conscious of where exactly Sir Gregory stood, and how best to keep him out of reach of her voice. She even sank so low as to embrace the violent friendship of Lady Felicia and the awkward attentions of her brother, Sir Peter.

At last the time for tepid conversation ceased and the tables were set up. Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat at a different table across the room. Elizabeth was grateful that her cousin's oddities were swallowed up by the crowd, even if she did hear him occasionally making a blunder and the loud laugh of the baronet as though he sincerely enjoyed Mr. Collins' gauche conversation. As she surveyed the room, however, she realized that an extraordinary number of the attendants—and there were more than two dozen—appeared to comport themselves in a backwards, insolent manner that matched her cousin's peculiar blend of obsequiousness and audacity, ignorance and self-importance.

Unintentionally her troubled gaze drifted to Sir Gregory. He watched her, now standing apart from everyone else and unengaged in any card game. When their eyes met, he approached and very subtlety leaned over her and asked her to meet him outside of the game room in the next five minutes. Before she could think of how to object without raising suspicions he had vanished through some side doors.

Miserable Elizabeth tried to signal to her friend, but Charlotte was wholly invested in the card game before her and did not notice Elizabeth. Annoyed by his presumption and yet intrigued by it as well, Elizabeth at last, after closer to ten minutes, excused herself for some fresh air and slipped through the same doors she had seen Sir Gregory use. Simply put, in that moment, she cared more to know what he should say than she cared about propriety.

Elizabeth's attention was instantly drawn to the glory of the room. It was a vast, well-stocked library with towers of shelves lined with rows upon rows of books. Although only lit by a small fire in a grate across the way, she could almost sense as much as see the utter beauty of the architecture and finery of the wood carvings.

'I thought you would enjoy it," said Sir Gregory, appearing out from a shadowed corner of the room. He approached the fire and lifted a poker, stoking it with leisurely ease.

"Won't you come sit?" He gestured to the large chair in front of the grate. "And fear not, Miss Bennet, I informed Mrs. Collins that I would like a private audience with you. Should you still feel uncomfortable my man is just outside the door."

Elizabeth was too shocked to speak, let alone move. Her mind was whisked away into new anxieties—what was he planning that he felt it appropriate to involve Charlotte? The relief that he was at least mindful of these sorts of proprieties was outweighed by her sudden increase in apprehension. Sir Gregory poked at the fire a little longer and then set it down and looked up at her. His usual happy expression was subdued into grim, sober lines.

"Please Miss Bennet, I can see by your demeanor that you are not at ease with me, but I beg you give me the opportunity to explain my actions."

He opened his hand in an age-old sign of invitation and the earnestness of his tone compelled her to respond. Her mouth did not move yet but her feet did. She walked across the room and dutifully sat down in the chair, folding her hands and raising her head.

"Thank you," he muttered, turning back to stare into the fire. His profile was cast into dark relief and he suddenly looked a much older man than his years—and certainly than his laugh.

"I can tell by your behavior this evening that you know I took the letter." Elizabeth gasped but he continued on, "I wasn't certain if you were aware of its existence until you refused to look me in the eye tonight. This changes things but not as much as you may suspect. I intended on seeking out a private interview with you even before this 'lettre dangereux' came about."

He glanced at her and Elizabeth blushed at the evident admiration in his eyes. Surely he did not have such serious designs on her as his words implied. Surely she was mistaken. Surely she could not continue to stare at him and not flush. Elizabeth lowered her lashes.

"I am going to tell you a story, Miss Bennet. I know you love a good story or you wouldn't be such a fine reader. I am sorry I cannot do it in rime but if you will suspend your biases against prose and hear me out I hope, I hope very much, you may come to like it as much as poetry. If not more, in fact."

This speech, full of allusions and insinuations, could hardly be listened to without an increase in color and a decrease in her ability to respond reasonably or indeed vocally. He awaited some response, however, and so she very quickly nodded.

"It begins, as most tales, long ago, but not in a land faraway. There once was a boy, a very rich and very negligent boy who when he finally attended university chose to waste his days gambling and racking up debts. He loved to play but he did not consider the consequences. His carelessness continued to multiply and before long he nearly ruined his inheritance and put an entire estate in jeopardy."

Elizabeth had slowly lifted her head and now stared, transfixed, by the impersonal, melancholic narrative. Sir Gregory must be speaking about himself.

"This boy's parents died and he had to act quickly to save the family house and land." He sighed, the blaze flickering across his face with angular shadows, and carried on with his story. "By chance he met a titled heiress and married her after a very brief engagement. It was a match of convenience. This boy was no longer a boy, but neither was he a man. He was somewhere in a strange middle land. He still loved to play but he had learned never to play with money, never to gamble his future. He started to fall in love with his wife, but when he saw the changes of love take place in her, he knew something was wrong. She had fallen in love, but not with him."

Elizabeth could hardly believe the baronet was revealing so much about himself. It not only dawned on her how very improper this was but how very difficult it must be for him. Distressed she cried out with more feeling than politeness, "Please, sir, I appreciate your trust in my secrecy, and assure you that your confidences will never be repeated by me, but is this truly necessary? Do not feel obliged to tell me anything but what is absolutely essential. I would not have a compulsory confession of past transgressions laid before my feet borne solely from an ill-conceived need to justify present actions."

Sir Gregory almost smiled and tapped his fingers on the wood mantle.

"I see I should have at least attempted to make verse. It would have been shorter." The laugh faded from his blue eyes. "I assure you this is all pertinent but you are correct, I am wallowing in reminiscences and I see my attempt to hide my primary role in this tale has been futile."

"Do not think me rude, Sir Gregory, I am listening. I will be your confidant if you wish it. It is not my place to deny you that."

"Isn't it?" he asked with a touch of resentment. "No, Miss Bennet, I _wish_ you to wish to know my history. I do not wish to tell you it like this, in this secretive manner and with you as my captive. But such is life."

He spun away back to the grate and after a minute or two topically said, "My twin boys are extraordinary. I love them dearly and am grateful to have them in my life. In many ways they are my life, Miss Bennet. But have you noticed that Nathanial and Harold look nothing like me? I assure you, I have. I noticed it the moment they were born. I noticed they looked remarkably like my former steward, Mr. Crolls."

"Mr. Crolls!" Elizabeth exclaimed, jumping up and no longer able to feign unconcern. Her heart stung with his casual admittance that his sons were not his own flesh and blood. And now this jagged dart? "The Mr. Crolls that is now the steward to Miss Darcy's uncle?"

"The very same one," replied Sir Gregory indifferently. "The Earl of Matlock of course knows nothing. I informed him Crolls was an excellent land manager but had questionable ethics. I just wanted him gone and Darcy's uncle just wanted to annoy his sister. He took up Crolls I think out of pure spite for Lady Catherine. You have to admire him that, and Crolls for his audacity to stay somewhat connected to my circle."

"But…but…" Elizabeth stammered, hardly able to accept his words—spoken evenly and with disinterest. Sir Gregory raised his eye brows and clasped his hands in front of his jacket.

"But, did you not feel compelled by duty to warn Lord Fitzwilliam of the sort of man he was hiring?" She thought of Georgiana's guilt and wondered if her friend had somehow known of Mr. Crolls' true character. "Is that why you took the letter Sir Gregory? You suspected it had something to do with Mr. Crolls?"

"I wish I could say yes, but unfortunately this is all, as the French say, par hazard. It is entirely a matter of chance that the letter contained the history of Mrs. Annesley and her new husband, my sons' blood father. As for spreading the news about the nature of his true character, as you so aptly put it Miss Bennet, I was too relieved he would be only a memory of my past to think of anything like condemning his future."

Agitated Elizabeth barely stopped herself from pacing about the room and throwing her hands in the air. Her thoughts flitted around, impervious and ephemeral to her wits. A fog of words that encompassed her but did not touch her. What a terrible mess this all was! Georgiana must have somehow known of Mr. Crolls' malicious and philandering side and either failed to warn Mrs. Annesley or had done too little, in her young mind, from halting the elopement. Yet, Elizabeth could scarcely reflect on any of that. Not with Sir Gregory standing beside her; his revelations laying heavy and thick on her mind.

"I am sorry to burden you with all of this, Miss Bennet, but after I saw the letter I had to know…"

His voice drifted into nothing and she looked up from her knotted fingers.

"Yes, Sir Gregory, why did you take the letter?"

He looked down at her, with sadness and longing.

"I had to know if I had a pre-engaged heart to attack."

Elizabeth shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Please forgive my forwardness, Miss Bennet. I know we have only just met but I feel a strong connection to you already. It is as if I have known you all my life. A kindred spirit of wit and playfulness, but in a lovely face and accompanied by a sweet disposition."

Her eyes were downcast at this point and her cheeks flushed with fresh color. He moved closer to her, his shadow elongating across her dress.

"I have every reason to have a solid attachment to you, though our acquaintance is of short duration. The rivalry of Mr. Darcy's affection is by no means a deterrent to me but rather proof that you are a woman worthy of admiration. But," he reached for her hand and she looked up, amazed by his familiarity, "if I have a rivalry for _your_ affection that is another matter entirely. I swore never to put myself in a situation where my heart could be so easily shattered. I do not think it can withstand that sort of betrayal again."

He leaned over her and she wondered in silent panic if he was going to take the liberty of kissing her. His eyes lingered on her lips for a moment, but after a time, he hesitatingly lifted his other hand and brushed her cheek with his fingers.

"I read the letter, and if Mr. Darcy is not mistaken, your heart is not already engaged to another. Please tell me it is so or if you can if it is possibly engaged to me?"

Elizabeth stammered. Heat rushed to her face, her stomach and underneath her arms. She could neither say yes or no. Did her heart belong to another? She did not think so. Did it belong to him? She did not think so. Out of all the confusion stifling her mind and deadening her tongue she could think only one clear thought.

"Do you have my letter Sir Gregory?" she breathily asked, as he dropped one hand from her cheek and the other from her palm. His face settled into a calmer torpor and mild grin.

"No, Miss Bennet, I do not. As I am sure you are aware, Darcy is not the sort of man to let something like that go. He caught up with me on the road, right after I had read it."

"And…" She didn't know what to ask. Clearly Sir Gregory was free of any bullet holes or sword punctures.

"And I informed him that he shouldn't' have been so incautious with your reputation. That he should encourage his sister to inform you herself of the affair. It is her business, not his and certainly not mine. For the first time in our long acquaintance, I actually think I made him blush."

He laughed blithely at his joke and Elizabeth wondered at his ability to switch moods so effortlessly and act so amused by his self-proclaimed rival. He seemed to read her bemusement and explained.

"Darcy is a good man, Miss Bennet and I wish him well. But unlike most, I am the same height as him—and a few years older. His stern looks do not intimidate me. More to the point, the fact that he has known you far longer than me and has yet to capture your heart—despite your reluctance to admit it in such clear language as I just have—gives me a great deal of hope for my chances."

He smiled down at her, impish and arrogant. For the first time tonight she tilted her head in delight and said in a saucy accent, "Ah but you have not asked me about your dear brother-in-law. Who knows but that he might yet run away with my heart? He is after all the closest to the crown."

Sir Gregory threw his head back and laughed. Elizabeth curtsied and slipped back out into the game room. Fortunately no one but Charlotte had noticed her re-entrance. The inane banter and hot bragging of so many men like her cousin had distracted most from noticing anything beyond their tables.

A twinge of remorse stung Elizabeth for her impolite words about Sir Peter. He was not clever but he also was not unkind. The baronet, however, seemed to draw out the worst impertinence in her. He took too much pleasure in such pointed foolery. His delight in the silly defects of others somehow bordered on cruel at times, though she did not know why. Sir Gregory's enjoyment at other's expense certainly was not equal to that of her father's. And her father was not a cruel man, even if he was at times caustic. She had to repeat that assertion thrice before fully accepting it.

Elizabeth seated herself at a different table so her former whist partners would not ask questions and for the remainder of the evening tried not to think. Perhaps she tried a little too hard; she lost each and every round she played.


	13. Chapter 13

Elizabeth could not listen to Mr. Collins' sermon the following Sunday morn, even more so than usual. More profound reflections occupied her active mind than the platitudes wrung from her cousin's duty-bound faith. Sermonizing aside the reverential comfort of sitting in chapel provided her a period of peaceful pondering, especially since a large bonnet hid Mr. Darcy and his family from her view.

Although she now understood what dark forces had tempted Sir Gregory to sink to stealing, in the breath and brightness of morning and away from the persuasion of his voice and manner, she could not justify that sort of cunning no matter the inducement. The magnitude of the betrayal the baronet had suffered by his wife must leave an indelible mark on a man's heart, but must it also leave such a stain on his character? She wondered to what depth this past treachery by the person dearest to Sir Gregory informed his current decisions and dictated his daily impulses. It certainly had been too influential in regards to respecting her privacy—and Mr. Darcy's for that matter.

Was he Milton's' thief—a sad outcome of his surroundings? A hungry man driven by need to steal a loaf of bread? Or was he crippled by other vices? He had freely admitted of a wasted and immoral youth. Were those former habits the true source of his present break from decency? Even love and passion, which he had confessed with much more conviction and emotion than his entire recitation of his history, could not wholly absolve him of wrong-doing in relation to the letter. Elizabeth's feelings followed her tortuous thoughts, wandering from pity for Sir Gregory to unresolved anger at him for taking the letter, and a strain of an emotion sharper than interest but less tender than affection steady as an accompaniment.

Mr. Collins' sermon, though in general rather long, did not give her enough time to sort out her mind, or most definitely her heart. For, ever in either the fore or rear of her consciousness lay the other gentleman whose character continued to grow in her estimation but whose heart she did not understand. Of her former dislike for Mr. Darcy she hardly could recall. The strange intimacy of their last couple weeks, most especially his tenderness toward his very tender sister, had lessened her retractable aversion. Arrogant though he was, she could no longer impute cruelty or selfishness to him. Equally she had begun to wonder if she had not yet been able to see him in his most comfortable setting and thus in his most attractive light. Lady Catherine appeared to annoy him as much as she bothered any one else and the presence of Georgiana had altered his overall demeanor from the aloof snobbishness of Netherfield to an overbearing officiousness.

The back and forth of his affection and attention to herself confused her as much as it frightened or excited her. Why either sentiment should rise up in her heart when she thought of his ambivalent admiration she did not know but neither could she longer deny that there was an undeniable lack of calm associated with the contemplation of Mr. Darcy reasserting his designs. And would he readdress her with words of admiration? His performance the other day in reciting poetry she would have counted as a flirtation, from anyone but Mr. Darcy. Sir Gregory most assuredly seemed to consider Darcy a declared rival.

Last night the baronet had cited some remarks his 'friend' had expressed in the letter and had made Elizabeth all the more desperate to read it. Perhaps it would not only unfold the mystery of Georgiana's inexplicable guilt and the affair with Mrs. Annesley, but also shed some much needed clarity on the mystery of Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth occupied herself with such musings until the sermon ended. The parishioners and she creakily rose, shuffling outdoors to the bright spring noon. Mr. Collins and his wife, as was their wont, made obligatory nods to the plebeians and gratuitous conversation with her Ladyship and her daughter. Elizabeth sunk behind the exiting mass, half hoping to catch Mr. Darcy's eye and half hoping to escape his notice. When she finally decided on the latter, that gentleman suddenly appeared beside her.

"Good day Miss Bennet," he began, his tall stature barricading her against the stone church.

Elizabeth started outright at his unexpected closeness and dropped her prayer book into the dirt. Blushing she reached down to grab it, just as Mr. Darcy also leaned over to retrieve it. Their clothed hands fumbled alongside each other, their fingers brushing as they both latched onto the leather-bound book.

A breath and look passed between them before Mr. Darcy said, in a thick voice, "Forgive me."

He released the book and her hand, his gloved fingers lightly trailing away from her own. Elizabeth swallowed, though her mouth stuck with dryness. Colorful and clammy, she straightened back up against the smooth rocks of the church's masonry. Their coolness soothed her and quieted the tremors suddenly shooting through her limbs. He watched her in silence until she raised her eyes to his, smiling with her lips in embarrassment. He wore an expression of which she could not name—either one too full or too lacking in emotion.

"I did not mean to startle you," he reassured, tapping the walking stick in his hand into the dirt.

"Not at all," she replied, preferring to redirect her gaze to the ground. The chatter of the lingering congregation seemed to fill the air with a nervous din. Elizabeth brushed some moss from her prayer book. Her hands shook slightly. She cursed herself for her sudden increase in agitation and inhaling deeply lifted her face. If he could meet her eye, she certainly might meet his.

"I am sorry to see Miss Darcy is still too unwell to attend services."

"It was merely a precaution. By tomorrow evening I am certain she will be in full recovery. I believe my sister will be glad to be rid of it." He paused, adding in a somewhat unnatural tone, "It is good to see you still unaffected by this cold passing through the neighborhood."

"Thank you," she answered her eyes downcast again.

Elizabeth wondered at his tone and rubbed her thumbs in tense circles around her book. She could not be contented with him just standing there, watching her and attempting to make mundane pleasantries. Why could they not return to her ignorant disapproval of him and his snobbish reticence? Anything was better than this bizarre combination of intimacy and distance, of sharing secrets and yet sharing nothing else.

"Miss Bennet, if my presence offends or disturbs you, pray be frank."

Elizabeth looked at him, for the first time noticing his fatigue and a speckle of color on his cheeks. Suddenly she realized that Mr. Darcy must feel even more uncomfortable with the type of situation in which they now found themselves. She at least had a natural affability and easiness of manner, of conversing and laughing at peculiar circumstances—years of enduring the inanities of her sisters and the oddities of her parents had been much better preparation for the foibles and follies of quotidian farces. Mr. Darcy had no such formative education.

Her keen mind perceived this truth about him and her kind heart felt for his discomfort. Compassion swallowed her own disquiet and her innate friendliness rose to the challenge. What was more, she recalled as if from an inner echo, it had only been but two weeks since their wretched tête-à-tête wherein he both retracted his designs and simultaneously declared his love. Mr. Darcy must be miserable indeed!

He had begun to turn away, but Elizabeth quickly put out her hand to his arm. He stiffened at her faint touch, gazing first at her withdrawing hand and then at her smiling face. His face was inscrutable but for the deepening tint on his cheeks.

"Mr. Darcy, it is an unusual plot wherein we find ourselves the key players. And I for one will not be remiss when my role has been relegated to a mere spectator or even a piece of furniture on the stage."

His deep eyes narrowed and he studied her face. This time she found it much easier to keep his gaze and her countenance. Pity after all is just another form of condescension.

"All the world is but a stage, Miss Bennet," he dryly quipped at last, some of _his_ true humor returning. That self-superiority finessed his bold features anew. It nearly drew a laugh from Elizabeth—for once not of derision but delight. Of relief.

"Then let us hope we are near to exiting this scene. I for one have grown tired of its rime."

"To wit, this riddle in particular."

He quickly pressed a folded envelope into her dangling hand, his eyes scanning the meager throng. She snatched it, inadvertently clutching at his fingers. To her utter surprise he squeezed her fingers back before stepping away.

"It is a lovely day," he blandly commented, securing his hat. "I think I will take my annual stroll through the south part of her ladyship's grounds this afternoon."

Elizabeth discreetly slipped the thick letter into her cloak's pocket and raised her head. Her cheeks tinted rose. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. Had that aside been an invitation? A request?

Mr. Darcy read her puzzlement and dropped his voice as he bowed. "Please, come. If…if you will."

Another breath, another look and he had gone.

As politely and calmly as she could, Elizabeth approached Charlotte and informed her she would go on ahead to the parsonage. She fancied passing through the lazy meadow with the wildflowers before meeting them for dinner. Mrs. Collins agreed and waved her friend away, caught up in the news of Mr. Somebody stealing Farmer So-and-So's hog. Elizabeth could scarcely wait until she had rounded the bend of shrubbery and located an isolated lane before tearing open the much-anticipated letter. To her astonishment, it was dated from yesterday. Could this be a different letter? The first lines of his neat, tight scrawl affirmed that very thought.

 _To Miss Elizabeth Bennet,_

 _I could not proceed in delivering you a letter whose substance had been read and even rebuked by another. Do not be alarmed madam I will divulge all the particulars of the affair between my sister and her former lady companion that has been talked much of for the past fortnight, and that I formerly vowed to clarify for you earlier this week. At least, all that I know of it, as a third party. But, I could not in good conscience, nay in fidelity to my own heart, miss the opportunity of laying before you some of the history between myself, my family and the La Rae family, more specifically Sir Gregory. His aggressiveness in intercepting the letter, under the guise of your protection, has compelled me to act perhaps more aggressively in kind. Whatever the understanding between you and he may or may not be, I will not allow him to impose his values on what may or may not exist between you and me._

 _One more word before I begin the short, albeit overwrought involvement of my sister in Mrs. Annesley's elopement. You should know Miss Bennet that Georgiana is aware of this letter. I had her read it. The baronet's chastisement did impel me to do that much and in that I must think his advice acceptable though his methods are still reproachable. As the idiom goes, Sir Gregory has his opinions and I have mine._

 _Since Georgiana has already confided in you herself about the past debaucheries of Mr. Wickham, I am grateful I do not need to waste my time in relating to you the dissolute nature of his character. For it is thanks to him, or rather, because of him that I had to dismiss her former lady companion, a Mrs. Young, who was an accomplice in Mr. Wickham's attempted seduction of my sister. I did not hire a new companion without a thorough inquiry into the character of all applicants. Mrs. Annesley met and exceeded all of my expectations and qualifications. She comes from a good family, was once married and her former employers wrote the worthiest of recommendations. Still I have no complaints against her other than how much her elopement has affected my sister._

 _From all that Georgiana and my uncle, the Earl of Matlock, have told me, Mr. Crolls began making his admiration toward Mrs. Annesley evident almost the moment Georgiana and she visited my uncle's home this last fall. As you can imagine, Georgiana was not very open to any gentlemen callers so soon after her own experience in Ramsgate. She informed Mrs. Annesley that she did not trust Mr. Crolls. Only last night she admitted to me that one of her reasons for suspecting him was his own veiled flirtation toward herself when Mrs. Annesley happened to be away for a moment or two. For my part, I have never respected the man though I lack any specific proof of his untrustworthiness. Despite my vehemence in the carriage the other day, it is only rumors I have heard whispered in dark places that make me more worried for his new wife. Rumors so ludicrous and nefarious I ought not to write them. His elopement aside he is a talented, clever steward and my uncle insists he will do much worse with a more noble man this coming spring when collecting the rents._

 _The scandal of the elopement is perhaps more disreputable because in order for the two lovers to take their flight they were forced to travel at night and alone, involving my sister in the deception. (She lied to my uncle about both their whereabouts the eve of their desertion, but by the following morning had confessed all to my aunt, Lady Fitzwilliam.) More over, the elopement was necessary due to some apparent gaming debts that Mr. Crolls had accumulated around the village near my uncle's estate. The result of these occurrences is that Georgiana for reasons known and unknown blames herself for her friend's entanglement and marriage with a less-than-worthy man._

 _The two are married, however, and are apparently still somewhere in Scotland. Georgiana received a letter from Mrs. Annesley about a fortnight ago, with her apologies for her behavior. Lady Catherine read the letter and was less than pleased that I had kept this information from her. Her disapproval of the match and the scorn she believes my sister will receive should the scandal be more generally known have caused what might have otherwise passed away without too much remark and certainly with fewer tears, into a festering problem and frequent crying jag by my sister. I do not need to drain your attention, however, with familial disagreements between my aunt and myself. In any case, I think I lack the ink to even begin writing that story._

 _Therein lays the whole of what I know of the affair. One point bothers me about the scandal, aside from Georgiana's distress, and it is connected to the other subject I will briefly canvas below; for lack of a better term, the issue of Sir Gregory La Rae._

 _As I mentioned, I know not how attached you are to the owner of Cumberbatch but a suspicion of its strength is all the more inducement to relate to you the particulars of our history. Sir Gregory is a few years my senior but we did pass a couple years together at university. Although my family and I visited Rosings often during my childhood, I did not meet him until Cambridge due to the rivalry between my late uncle, Sir de Bourgh and Sir Gregory's late father, Sir Anthony. The dispute arises from nothing more or less than a shared water supply that over the decades has evolved into a rich distaste for each other. If cooler heads had been present many years ago, I daresay the now-dried up river would not have caused such a rancorous quarrel._

 _As it is, when I first met Sir Gregory my inclination was to like him, despite our dueling connections. It is not my purpose to blacken the character of a man who has by all accounts reformed; therefore I will not inform you why my first impression of him quickly soured. Sir Gregory appears to have become a better man than the flagrant youth I knew at Cambridge, however, it is the small things that trouble me. The theft of the original draft of this letter is of course one of them, but the other is that Mr. Crolls was steward of Cumberbatch prior to working for my uncle, and although again I lack any evidence of misdoing, I now believe Sir Gregory was not entirely truthful about the nature and character of his former steward in his recommendation to my uncle. Perhaps he was unaware of Mr. Crolls' questionable morals but from some of the comments the baronet has made to me this most recent trip I believe Sir Gregory to have been entirely knowledgeable about Mr. Crolls' rakish ways and I do not know if I can forgive him for that oversight when his lack of disclosure put my sister at risk and did in fact end in the degradation, no matter how small, of one of her friends._

 _Criticizing such an omission may appear to you to be overly fastidious, I have been accused of that much in the past, but I would not want you to be misguided by another gentleman of happy manners and easy laughs. Upon reflection, in particular after passing so much time with my sister, which I am ashamed to say has not been our habit, I have reconsidered my choice in not doing more to warn others, your family especially Miss Bennet, about the dubious charm of Mr. Wickham. I viewed such a disclosure as beneath me but I cannot now agree with my former opinion. Watching Georgiana suffer from guilt for not having done more to hinder her friend from forming an attachment to an unsavory man has opened my eyes to the very real culpability I would feel should Mr. Wickham, or any man of my acquaintance, insinuate himself into the heart and bosom of respectable females._

 _In all of this, Miss Bennet, my wish is to warn you and nothing else. You are a free woman, with a mind and will of your own. And a heart of your own as well. I know I have no claim on how or to whom you bestow it. Truly, I hope he is a worthy man._

 _What I now write, please know that I am not claiming to be that worthy man. I am not fool enough to believe your opinion of me has undergone any material change in so short a time and without any further information. Nor do I wish to appear as a fool by avowing things I have hitherto disavowed. Yet, I am perhaps foolish enough. As I briefly mentioned on our short carriage ride to the parsonage earlier this week, I cannot continue to pretend that your low opinion of me affects me not at all. When we spoke on the hilltop you did not give me leave to justify my actions, nor even yourself to enumerate my faults. The carriage ride did not give us time. In a letter, I cannot answer your direct questions. I do not wish to dredge up harsh words and regrets, which I will not lie, have been constantly on my mind these past several days, but I must beg it of your goodness and justice to grant me a time and place to defend my character to you. If I will not have your hand, whatever the reasons are, then let me at least have your respect._

 _I will endeavor to deliver this letter to you after morning services and pray for the opportunity to address you in person._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Fitzwilliam Darcy_

Elizabeth's first perusal of the letter was done so hurriedly and hungrily that she hardly knew what she had read. She had to sit on a boulder and read it two or three times more before she could catch the flurries of thoughts swirling through her mind. Flurries that melted through her concentration as easily as snowflakes on her fingers.

Mr. Darcy's factual retelling of Mrs. Annesley and Mr. Crolls' affair was less shocking, given the baronet's revelations from the previous night. Now fully understanding all the details in the story and realizing what sort of tender state Georgiana had been in when this elopement took place it, so soon after her experience with Wickham, Elizabeth no longer wondered at her fragile friend's depression. Before rising from her impromptu rocky chair, she determined to call on Georgiana the next morning and do all in her power to lift her spirits and convince her that her hands and dear heart were more than clean in this instance, that no guilt could possibly be yoked upon her. Georgiana must allow for reason to assuage the absolute irrationality of her shame, or so Elizabeth told herself.

For the other matter, namely Mr. Darcy's concerns about Sir Gregory, they were equally unsurprising, albeit perspicuous on the part of the tentative accuser. To Elizabeth, the baronet had already confessed much more about his troubled past than even Mr. Darcy knew. Almost she felt that she ought to write a response letter to Mr. Darcy, confirming his suspicions or coloring in the specifics of his vague intuitions.

No, overall, it was not the bulk content of his words, and certainly not the express reason for the letter, that dizzied her composure and stirred her feelings. Eagerly her eyes, skipping over large passages and complex sentences, sought out those few lines within Mr. Darcy's lengthy recital that revealed his own thoughts, his own feelings, his own self. Her fluster arose from his measured comments about his continued admiration for her, his offhand disavowal of his own former beliefs and lastly his outright summon that she grant him an audience—for nothing other than to defend his character before her and possibly receive a more refined critique. It amazed her that a man whom even up until this morning she had always considered to be the proudest being of her acquaintance would be so touched by her strictures and so moved by her disapprobation to willingly seek out an opportunity to have her humble him, with more pointed abuse. And although apprehensive about such a meeting and unable to decide what her opinion of him was at this time, she did not question for a moment her plan to meet him later this afternoon. At length, she folded the letter and twisting her hands and chewing her lip, eventually ambled back to Hunsford.

So distracted by her nerves and wonder, she walked much more slowly than usual and nearly missed all of dinner. Later she could not recall what poor excuse she had given for her tardiness. The food tasted as ash and the conversation of her friend and cousin sounded as wood on wood to her ears. Only mildly guilty for her inattention, Elizabeth experienced a burst of gratitude that Charlotte took an afternoon nap on Sundays and that Maria was still laid up in bed. Mr. Collins likewise would nap, under the guise of reading for next week's sermon.

With a heart full of curiosity and trepidation, she slipped out the back gates of the parsonage and, only turning back around twice, headed toward the southern lane of Rosings Park.


	14. Chapter 14

Tree blossoms embroidered the lane but Elizabeth admired none of the budding beauty. Her mind, usually so eager for basking in the glow of nature's glories, was wholly centered on the gentleman who had just stepped around the bend. It was clear from _his_ unsurprised air that her approach had not been sheltered from his view. At his sudden apparition, her nerves overtook her curiosity and she stopped short at his bow.

"Miss Bennet," he said, a mixture of reserve and uncertainty coating his address. "I hope you have not been wandering long."

"Not at all," she replied. An unwitting crimson filled her cheeks and she turned away, unable to keep his eye.

The words and confessions of his letter pressed against her mind. His last request weighing more heavily than all others—to what end did he truly desire her to stand before him now? Did he honestly seek out this interview in order to defend his character and endure her abuse? The request now seemed strange, even absurd. Why had she come? How could two persons, as dissimilar and distant as they, engage in such an intimate and open conversation? How might it even begin it?

A grave shadow clouded the natural lightness of her countenance as the peculiarity of this recontre settled upon her. Elizabeth stole a troubled glance in Mr. Darcy's direction and the evident discomfort of his posture succeeded in undoing some of her own. One of them must speak! Standing in this terrible awkwardness would only inspire more gauche behavior, like a dancer who persists on waltzing even after the music has finished. If she did not speak first, she might not be able to speak at all.

In a near incoherent accent, she began, "Pardon my frankness sir, but I am at a loss to understand why you have asked me to meet you here. I have read your letter and whatever further explanation you believe necessary I must in turn believe to be utterly unnecessary."

Mr. Darcy opened his mouth as if to speak but Elizabeth barreled on, her indeterminate conviction about his character forming with each rushed phrase.

"Your letter enlightened me on a number of subjects, not least of which the quality of its author. I am not so obstinate in my opinions as to ignore relinquishing them so that I might gratify my vanity. Judgment ought not to favor anything but truth. And it is a truth universally acknowledged that a man of good character harbors no fear of exposure. You would not have asked me here had you something to conceal. I cannot now doubt your integrity. You need not defend your character for my benefit. Indeed you may consider me a defender of your character. True we may ever profess opposing views on the correct _modes_ of propriety but not on the correct meaning of it. Manners of address will not be confused with more important matters of speech, namely honesty. We could involve ourselves in a lengthy conversation about judgments and biases but I see no need for that. And as for the histories of those not present, why invoke their absent memories at all? Let us let bygones be gone, for the sake of your sister as much as for our shared peace of mind. In short, Mr. Darcy, you may consider me more friend than foe."

"Short, my lady, that was not."

Elizabeth faltered, surprised by his mockery and her blurred gaze cleared. For the first time since she started her breathless ramble she actually saw Mr. Darcy. The hesitance of moments before had given way to an expression of humor. A smile drifted over his lips and an unheard laugh stirred in his eyes. Confusion and a tint of anger flared in her face.

"Sir?" she asked with more heat than coolness. "Did my speech offend you?"

Unquailed by her ire, Mr. Darcy's grin deepened. Although when he next replied, his tone was suffused with all the dull adroitness his face lacked.

"Forgive me if my amusement led you astray, madam. I am not offended."

"Might I ask what amuses you then?"

"You may ask."

Her mouth hung open as she realized that was all the reply she was to receive. Bewilderment overthrew her anger and made her next words lay forgotten on her tongue. The sudden reversal in their manners, his levity and her dourness, set her further adrift in these unstable waters. If the fastidious Mr. Darcy would only return she might regain some of her poise. Why must he smile at her like that? Had he nothing better to do than to discompose her?

Some recollection nudged at her mind and she said, grappling for a measure of playful reserve, "I hope I am not now to learn what Mr. Bingley meant when he warned of certain gentlemen's moods on Sunday afternoons when they have nothing to do."

Mr. Darcy's teasing smirk wavered into a more tepid expression. Too late she recalled that he had appeared offended by his friend's joke. A trickle of guilt began to wind down her breast. Her eyes likewise dropped downward. She was spared cursing her lack of control for much longer, however, by his unhurried, unaccusing response.

"If I am not mistaken, the setting is not quite right to prove Bingley's assertion. We are at Rosings, not Pemberley."

"Indeed," she answered, a surge of discontentment in her heart. Elizabeth began watching Mr. Darcy slowly grind his walking stick into the soppy ground. He flipped his stick to the other hand, catching her avoidant gaze. His dark eyes compelled her to look at him; the light in them transfixed her. Some of her perplexity dissolved and the inexplicable panic abated.

"You cannot know," he nearly whispered, a tender expression softening his face, "what your words mean to me—to know you believe me to be a man of honor, to know you think me more friend than foe."

"I…" She started, coloring and stuttering, unable to finish. Mr. Darcy continued on in the same warm timbre.

"Of course, it cannot have escaped your memory Miss Bennet that for my part I have ever considered you a friend, and for a time, something even more."

He held her gaze for a moment longer, a moment too long, before waving his hand in the direction of the path and motioning for her to accompany him. With her eyes slanted demurely at the ground, she moved to his side. Quickly they fell into a steady rhythm, their feet padding noiselessly along the spring-lit lane.

"My object in asking you to meet me here was to respond to any questions you might have after reading my letter. I had no idea how, or indeed _if_ , my revelations would alter your opinion of me and I did not want to leave Rosings without doing all in my power to dispel any misrepresentations of my character that my letter may have exaggerated or possibly created."

Mr. Darcy paused to assist her through a swelling puddle and Elizabeth impulsively asked, tugging her hand away from his light clasp as soon as her boot had sunk into the firm gravel, "Leave Rosings? Are you leaving so soon?"

With a probing intensity, he searched her face.

"We are, as soon as midday tomorrow, in fact. If not for my sister's illness we would have departed Rosings a week or more ago."

"Oh."

Something like regret flitted across her chest and she batted her eyes away. They resumed their leisurely pace and Elizabeth added, "I shall be sorry to lose the company of Miss Darcy."

"And she shall miss yours."

"I will call upon her this evening or if she is indisposed, then at first light, if she will receive me."

Her companion nodded but offered no immediate reply. From a sidelong glance Elizabeth noticed his fist tightening over his walking stick as a lag in the conversation ensued. For a few minutes they pressed forward, meandering deeper into the southern wilds of her ladyship's park in a silence that was neither tranquil nor golden. Mr. Darcy's lassitude did not extend beyond his speed, his fist ever curling more tightly. After some moments of furtive observation, Elizabeth determined that if he was not soon distracted from his apparent gloomy thoughts the knob of his walking stick might not survive his grip. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I am sorry. I think my inquiry into your travel plans diverted you from your original point. Please do not permit my inquisitiveness to take precedence over your stated purpose for this meeting."

To her relief, his hand immediately slackened and he spoke. A touch of gentleness enriched his accent, more kind than refined.

"You have nothing for which to apologize. I had nearly finished. I will only add, Miss Bennet, that I wanted to be certain to afford you the opportunity to sketch my character in manner that would reflect well on both of us. I fear the last attempt proved a poor performance by each, though I must assign the greater share of the blame to myself."

Elizabeth failed to suppress a rueful smirk, a wry laugh following. The return of her deprecating good humor raised her courage, and her face. She halted and so did he.

"Too true, sir, but you have forgotten one critical point. Until making your acquaintance my penchant for drawing never had to bear the scrutiny that true artists of ink and paper must endure. Your gallantry aside, as the wielder of the figurative pen, I must accept most of the blame for the poor illustration."

Mr. Darcy grinned mildly, his eyes warm and his mouth relaxed. Looking at him, her spirits floating on the current of restored equanimity, an unaffected smile on her own lips, Elizabeth suddenly comprehended that the man before her was exactly the man who in disposition, talents, and above all, character, would best suit her. The awareness had been breaking as gradually as dawn over the horizon of her mind but until this moment of ease, removed from distractions and repentant of her former disdain, she had been blinded from its growing inevitability. And so the realization clapped with the shocking swiftness of lightning. Her laughter turned into a muted gasp and she darted her eyes away. The gentleman noticed the change in her countenance and asked if she was well.

"Yes, yes," Elizabeth stammered, not knowing where to look or how she appeared. A rosy perspiration dusted her fine features. Her heart shook with flutters of delight and dread, as painful as they were pleasant. The entire world seemed to throb with the same percussion of her hammering pulse, the trees, the rocks, the ground.

"Would you like to sit down? It is rather warm today." Mr. Darcy asked, sounding as concerned as he did bemused.

She flicked her gaze to him and violently shook her head, unused to these sorts of overwhelming sensations that her mother or younger sisters often exclaimed to experience. She had never understood her mother's spells or her sisters' histrionics, barely resisting openly mocking them for such affectation, but from the dizzying spasms now coursing through her body, she discovered a burgeoning empathy for her family members of more sensibility than sense. Was she now on the verge of demanding smelling salts?

"Miss Bennet would you like to sit?" Her confused companion repeated. "Truly I think you must."

She again glanced at him, once more the source of her agitation. His grave face drew from her a choked reply.

"No, a sudden headache is all. I think…I think I ought to return to the parsonage."

"Then please, rest and I will go and fetch my horse. You are not well."

"No, no thank you."

She dabbed at the cool dew gathering along her temples and feigned a faint smile. Uncertain if she should rejoice or despair that he appeared so oblivious to the truth. Yet his eyes only revealed sincere, albeit befuddled, alarm. Those eyes that only moments ago had glowed bright with admiration. Or had they? Was she mistaken? Had they simply reflected regret? Staring at him now, she did not know. She could see nothing in his expression but worry. Flustered she had to look away. She had to get away. Her whirring ears barely heard his next supplication for her to rest.

"That is not necessary. I am very capable of walking," she mumbled.

"Your preference for walking is admirable but my horse is just beyond that grove of trees, grazing in the meadow over there."

She was about to decline his offer again, but he insisted with all the more earnestness; his emphatic manner leaving little room for argument. Resigned and disoriented, she allowed him to lead her to a nearby felled tree. She did not notice his brief, serious look before he briskly moved toward the open field fenced in by a cluster of oaks. Sitting on the lumpy log in the humming hush of the trees, the disconcerting pounding of her heart and mind grew more and more still. The warbles and buzzing of the birds and insects soothed her as soft whispers to a newborn babe. The moment of repose flowed into a moment of reflection; her air one of amazement; her brow knitted in meditation.

Shocked her mind still stumbled over the startling but undeniable reality of the transformation of her feelings. What a fool she was! How many times would she tumble into a pit of her own making? All of her faculties rose up to accuse her lack of self-awareness, to decry her decaying and disproven opinions of the man whose figure now loomed before her as the object of her affection and the desire of her heart. Was this a time to lament or laud? She knew not. She knew nothing, nothing but that the man whom she would have refused to marry a month ago had today become the man she longed to accept.

All at once nothing was as it should be and yet, somehow, everything was exactly as it should be. And in the turmoil of this discovery, she knew one more thing with absolute certainty; that whatever be the course of action she should next pursue, she did not possess the command of her intellect or the calmness of spirit to embark upon it now. It would be impossible to remain another minute in his presence. Glimpsing the tall outline of Mr. Darcy on the outer reaches of the meadow, Elizabeth stood up, and as discreetly and decorously as possible, ran away.

 _"Struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight." I always knew Elizabeth would sort of trip into falling in love with him in this rendition. Sometimes it happens like this. I know it did for me with the man who ended up being my husband._ _Thanks for reading. A few more chapters left, don't worry. I think I smell roses._


	15. Chapter 15

Elizabeth had not been on her own for more than five minutes when she heard swift horse hoofs approaching. For a fleeting instant she allowed herself to believe it was someone other than Mr. Darcy, until the gentleman, in a strained voice, called her name. Her heart sunk in a sickly thud and her feet scudded to a halt.

She had no idea how to act. No inspiration on what to say. No reason for her flight. Not one she felt competent or collected enough to offer. Fear had not impelled her to flee. Illness had not deprived her of her wits. Impulse, possibly even instinct, had taken command of her senses. For one so confident in her perceptiveness and prideful in her self-awareness, the sudden realization that she lacked both had been a terrible blow. Injured by the proverbial fall, feeling so much the proverbial fool, she had simply reacted. Pride goes before destruction and apparently folly before desertion. Shame, more often than fear, is the cause of cowardice. Certainly it was for Elizabeth.

The last clop-clop of the horse and the jingle of the reins as its rider dismounted did nothing to quiet her unrest. She strove to compose her face into bland politeness. The pangs of humiliation and the sharpness of new love continued to prickle over her body and bleed into her heart. Her mind would not be still, nor would her hands. She dusted sweaty palms down her dress and readjusted her wind-swept bonnet. And although she pivoted on the path, she did not directly face her pursuer. She could not.

Darcy shared none of her struggles. He not only faced her, but in an action of more feeling than forethought hurried to her side and grabbed a hold of her shoulders. Stunned by both his boldness and closeness Elizabeth's head toppled back and her eyes shot up. His familiar face shook with an energy she had never before seen. Panic was etched into every line. His eyes darted frantically across her face.

"Please madam, tell me you are…"

His demand faded into silence as Elizabeth's countenance transformed from one of wonder into an emotion she could not name. A brilliant flush rose to her already bright cheeks.

"I am well," she said.

The gentleman's alarm vanished. A new expression began to infuse his features, tender and hopeful. Unknowingly she parted her lips and stretched her neck upwards. His eyes glowed. His fingers pressed into her flesh. A sigh escaped her throat. As he leaned in, she closed her lids. Not knowing what to expect. Not thinking what might follow. But the nameless longing remained unnamed on her lips. Her mouth grew dry. Her body became chill. And Mr. Darcy shifted away. His hands dropped from her shoulders and a cold breeze swirled over her skin.

Slowly she opened her eyes. Darcy's gaze was fixed on her and if not for his rare blush she might have believed she had imagined the last few moments. So many feelings and thoughts washed over her that she felt none of them. They wrapped around her as water, protecting her in a blanket of insensibility. The reprieve permitted her to attempt a recovery; a return to formality.

"Perhaps I spoke too soon," said she, falling into teasing, "perhaps neither of us is feeling well."

Darcy made no comment, only nodding in wordless acquiescence. Silence seeming be his means of recollecting himself. He continued to stare at her, however, with a depth that made her scarcely able to encounter his eye. Fidgeting slightly from the miserable pleasure of such unblinking attention, she laughingly added, "Or perhaps it is merely that we neither are feeling quite ourselves."

"On the contrary," Darcy immediately replied, "I cannot recall the last time I felt more myself than this very moment."

Elizabeth was again too much embarrassed to say a word. After a pause, her companion asked the question she had been dreading. "Why did you run away?" Five harmless words to which she could hardly give a just answer, certainly not a completely truthful one. Feeling awkward and agitated, she forced herself to respond. Her answer flowed without fluency and barely with any coherency. She rambled on, mentioning every reasonable ground for her flight without giving any actual reason for it. She talked of her spontaneous need for exertion, the sudden remembrance that exercise often heals her headaches and the discomfort of remaining seated on that log. She finished by making a disconnected statement about the loveliness of the day and her general admiration for spring weather.

Darcy watched her closely, his expression unchanged. Yet to her anxious examination, it had become inscrutable. Not prone to exposing herself to criticism and not wanting the person before her to judge her too harshly for such a disregard of courtesy and display of flightiness she cried out.

"Do not fault me for my behavior or indeed think ill of me, if possible. I have other reasons that I cannot explain, that I ought not to invoke. Only know that whatever the motivation, your conduct is not to blame. Let me assure you, Mr. Darcy, that you are not the cause."

At this last explanation, spoken with warmth and a tremble of pleading, Elizabeth turned away. The sting of tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Her head really was beginning to throb; the excitement and exertion finally exhausting her strength and upending her composure. Fighting against the dam of tears threatening to burst, she missed Darcy's remark, until chagrined by her lack of reply, he stepped nearer and repeated, "How unfortunate, Miss Bennet. I had hoped I was the cause."

His words sliced through the haze of her growing misery. Sweet in their poignancy they pierced that wall welling up her emotions. She spun around, her cheeks already aglow in a sheen of tears, her mouth poised with a confession that would not come. Although forthright by nature, a declaration of love when love may yet be in vain requires more courage and desperation than a talent for frankness. The thing her tongue could not utter, however, her eyes could reveal. Her heart shimmered in them, unhidden and unfettered.

Darcy's timidly playful air melted into surprise at the expression of hope-filled delight and affection diffused over her fair face. She waited, breathless, as his amazement quickened into joy. A sweet animation overspread his features. Vaguely she heard the rustle of leather on skin and within a breath he had raised ungloved hands to her face. Slowly, hesitantly Darcy brushed his thumbs across her wet cheeks. First one side and then the other. His eyes trailed the gentle motions of his fingers.

"Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth," he said, settling his gaze on her glistening one, "don't cry."

Overcome she lowered her eyes. The coolness of her dripping lashes was startling against the heat on her face. With her head still bowed, Darcy stepped back. His knuckles grazing her cheeks as he dragged his hands away. She sighed and if she was not mistaken so did he.

A stillness crept into the air. The kind of tranquility that only comes from words unspoken and yet understood. Her mind was empty of all distractions. Her spirits freed from all anxieties. Only her heart mattered. And it was full. Full of an emotion she cared not to describe, dared not describe. After a moment, her companion spoke, his voice rich with reluctance.

"There is much to be said, but now is not the time. I am sure your friends will be wondering where you are, and my family must be thinking the same. And I will not risk your reputation at the expense of my, or possibly even our, wishes."

Elizabeth lifted her still-flushed face and nodded. Glancing beyond the thick tree line, she glimpsed the pastel splashes of late afternoon on the sky above. She had been entirely preoccupied with her thoughts and feelings, with the thoughts and feelings of Mr. Darcy that she had become oblivious to all other objects, including time. Not for the first or last occasion she felt a rush of gratitude for her reputation as an excellent walker and an abominable time-keeper. She smirked at the recollection. Finding it difficult to look directly at Darcy, but with a blend of archness and coyness in her air, she flicked her gaze, between his horse and him.

"Thank you for your caution and allow me to add my own. I really would rather not risk my well-being by riding your horse, nay, I would rather not risk your horse's well-being either."

The animal snorted as though in agreement and Elizabeth nervously laughed. Darcy studied her jovial, somewhat anxious, expression and then cast his dubious eye toward his horse.

She sensed his rebuttal, and preempting his retort, declared, "I implore you to believe me that I am no great horsewoman. Furthermore, if you seek to protect me from gossip or insinuation then it is best I do not return to the parsonage on your horse. I must enter Hunsford as I set out from it, on foot and solitary."

At length he frowned, nodding his acceptance. Suppressing a triumphant grin, she lowered her brow.

Nothing was left but to say farewell. The moment of departure arriving with a return of some uneasiness, characterized more by clumsiness than discomfort. Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth appeared to be able to maintain eye contact. She tightened her limp bonnet ribbons with exaggerated concentration and he slid on his gloves with unnecessary precision.

For Elizabeth's part, she still could not think clearly. Nothing but a much longer conversation and much more of a declarative dialogue would palliate the rapidity of her pulse and disentangle the jumble of her feelings. As a dewdrop on a petal, their current understanding wavered on the cusp of so many things and the edge of nothings, a thrilling but unstable perch wherein to rest. Elizabeth did not know what she ought to consider Mr. Darcy; she did not even know what she ought to call him. Would he address her with such familiarity again? With these thoughts, she simply resolved against speaking at all. In a pretty ado, she silently curtseyed.

As she turned to go, Darcy quietly wished her well, adding, "I will inform my sister that you will call on her very soon, but do not feel pressed to pay the visit this evening. I trust you realize that we will not be leaving Rosings for at least a few days more."

Unable to resist, Elizabeth glanced behind. He smiled and she blushed.


	16. Chapter 16

It is little wonder that Elizabeth took the long way back to the parsonage. She needed to recollect her thoughts, to wonder at the transformation of her preferences and yes, even to shed some tears. Her heart and mind had been tugged in so many directions these past couple weeks that from sheer exhaustion she stopped midway through her return walk and allowed herself the pleasure of a good, hearty cry. It refreshed as much as it revived her. And though knowing she must appear almost wild, experienced a sort of tameness of soul she had not felt since Mr. Darcy and his sister had arrived in Kent when at last, with a sheen of wetness upon her cheeks and a brightness in her eyes, she stood up to travel back to the home of her friend and cousin.

Her mind meandered along with her feet, the general contentment of her air not strong enough to shut out _all_ unpleasant thoughts. And Elizabeth, though unusual for her, felt drained by the exertion of the day. Without much concern she wondered if the flush on her skin was just the work of love. Love. Incredulous she mused that she should be in love, and with Mr. Darcy.

How would Mr. Darcy behave? How would she? What events might befall her after such a restless Sabbath? Had not only his heart but his intentions changed? Did he now wish to connect himself to her regardless of those obstacles which he had previously declared to be insurmountable? Little did she know, little did she care. Her affection was his; his purposes were to her joy or sorrow. When such troublesome and unanswerable thoughts threatened to upend her peace she banished them away by remembering just how oddly exhilarating Mr. Darcy's fingertips had felt against her skin. How warm his eyes had been. How soft his voice had sounded. How in all her years she had never suspected a gentleman could be so _gentle_.

More than once an intrusion of a much greater power clouded her sunny reflections, memories of a different gentleman. The specter of Sir Gregory would not vanish as easily as her other qualms. He was not an idle nuisance or a passing worry. He had opened his history and his heart to her only last night. Despite the discovery of her heart's favorite she could not deny the place, though small it was, that the baronet had managed to penetrate and claim. With nearly equal force as her revelation regarding Darcy she knew that to wound Sir Gregory would be to wound herself also. She felt his teeth marks on her heart and knew the cut would take time to heal.

Yet she could not weep again. Her hopes were too high for anything but the deepest sorrows to lower them. Naught but a familial or personal ill could truly dampen the soaring glow of her spirits. And so, since she could not cry, she chose to laugh. What a strange thing the heart was! How peculiar! How fickle!

Elizabeth was still laughing when she pushed through the parsonage back gates and entered Mr. Collins' garden. The finely manicured rows of roses sprawled out before her. The floral scent of the blossoms tickled her nostrils. Her bemused smile richened into a sigh of satisfaction. Some nice warm tea and an early retirement to bed seemed like the perfect end. Her heart yet pattered with a borderline uncomfortable speed and that headache was touching the corners of her brain once again, a dull ache with the promise of a sharp pain.

Nevertheless she leaned over to stop and smell one of the fragrant buds. The red petals brushed against her skin with a satiny lightness. The sensation brought Mr. Darcy to mind and she blushed.

"Tell me Miss Bennet, if you were to press your nose against a lilac, would your skin turn violet?"

Elizabeth gasped and spun around. Lurking behind a tall rose bush, his outline nearly blended in with the crepescule lavender, stood Sir Gregory. Stunned she planted a sweaty hand against her racing heart and cried "Sir!" before another figure emerged from the spindly shadows and cut short her exclamation.

"Oh, gracious, Gregory, you gave poor Miss Bennet the scare of her life!" boomed the young lady. She sidled around the baronet and grinned more broadly. "Look at the size of her eyes. Why they're as big as saucers!"

Lady Felicity's white teeth shimmered and her opal eyes glinted as her girth shook with a boisterous giggle. Sir Gregory chuckled softly as he explained to the sheepish, panting Elizabeth that Mrs. Collins had been so kind as to share her tea hour with them, despite their unexpected call, and had espied Elizabeth only moments ago from her back parlor. Elizabeth glanced to the lit window and dimly saw Charlotte watching the interaction with perverse enjoyment. Oh! Her friend was of no help these days. Turning her reluctant attention back to the two callers, Elizabeth gave them a more cordial and collected greeting.

"Please forgive us Miss Bennet, but I cannot resist a good surprise when the opportunity presents itself. It's so rare in our refined society to witness unvarnished emotion that the chance to see it is as priceless to me as it is amusing."

"Things are never more priceless as when they are at the expense of others," Elizabeth replied, at last catching her breath and folding her arms in feigned affront. She would never confess it but she felt slightly dizzy.

She arched her brows and tilted her cheek, a gesture that had always endeared her to the baronet. Its significance was unappreciated by her, as water is to the sated. But Sir Gregory was a man of many appetites, a deserted man thirsty for authenticity. And for him that simple expression of saucy sweetness was of great worth. It stilled the silly smile on his lips and altered his appearance. Tenderness thickened his tone.

"What does the psalmist ask so succinctly? Who can find me a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies." He bowed his head, keeping his eyes fixed on her face. "I would never trivialize your value, Miss Bennet. If given the chance I would prove it to you."

A flutter of attraction beat against the wall of guilt rising in her chest. Bashful and confused she averted her gaze, hoping Sir Gregory would not grow bolder from her agitated manner. She never knew how far his flippancy would carry him. Fortunately Lady Felicity ended the exchange in a loud, crowlike chortle.

"La! But you are a poet, Gregory. I think it a good idea for you to put off your talk of love until the morrow, though." She tapped Elizabeth's arm with a fan and tossed her a conspiratorial wink. "More fancy words from you and Miss Bennet is likely to swoon."

"If that is meant to act as a deterrent," he dragged his gaze to Lady Felicity masking his sincerity in lines of sarcasm, "you have gravely misunderstood either my speech or my character, and quite possibly both."

Tittering Lady Felicity disavowed ever professing to understand any gentleman, least of all him, and waving her arms in dramatic fashion declared for the entire neighborhood to hear that he could be as arrogant as Lady Catherine, or worse, her nephew. The two burst into laughter. Sir Gregory maintained a measured, elegant snicker. His sister-in-law, however, devolved into near hysterics. Elizabeth watched, pretending to find their joke amusing and wanting nothing more than to refute their assertion, compelled more by a desire to rectify her past misjudgments than by her current admiration for the object of their derision. Certainly her ladyship was a conceited busybody but Mr. Darcy was not. On the verge of rebuking their claim and hopefully silencing their levity she was once more intercepted by the vociferous Lady Felicity, who abruptly switched her sniggers into oohs and bounced astonishingly lightly for one so heavy.

"Dear Gregory, and you as well Miss Bennet, I must tell you my tastiest piece of gossip. It's utterly delicious. Sinful as chocolate!"

She flashed a mischievous grin at Elizabeth and smacked her fan against the baronet's shoulder. Splaying it in front of her face she said, "I only just received a letter from my darling Caroline Bingley."

Lady Felicity had paused, clearly attempting to enhance the drama of her grand reveal. Elizabeth's wary interest quickly perked into wondering. Her sore ankles and tired head could wait another couple minutes before finding relief. She doubted she would hear any good from the former Netherfield neighbor, but doubted she would hear any real bad either. What sort of delectable secrets would the high-minded madam share with her friend? Sir Gregory took advantage of the break to scoff at the idea of him learning anything noteworthy from a correspondent of Felicity's.

"Oh you may find this very enlightening my good brother, for it is about a person whom we all know."

The baronet waved his hand before crossing his arms in evident, and easy, resignation. He dimpled and cast a charming eye at Elizabeth. In spite of herself, she returned his flattering look with one of her own.

"Very well, but then you must allow me to recover some of Miss Bennet's former respect for me by permitting me to fulfill our reason for calling so late on a Sunday eve."

"I shan't be long and you'll both be so shocked by my news you'll hardly recall anything as silly as frightening someone by hiding in a rose bush." She dropped her fan and smoothed her cherry-round face. "Now this was written to me in the strictest confidence so you must not tell a soul or I will die of shame. Caroline informed me that her own brother—Henry or George—"

"Charles?" Elizabeth quietly offered.

"Yes, yes that's it! I knew it was some king's name. But aren't you coy Miss Bennet. You didn't tell me you were acquainted with the Bingleys, didn't even let on one bit!"

Elizabeth smirked, avoiding Sir Gregory's too-quick scrutiny as Lady Felicity chattered on.

"So this Charles rather foolishly fell in love with some country miss and had to be rescued from the unworthy lady's clutches. It was quite scandalous. They even had to flee in the middle of the night to manage their escape."

Elizabeth pressed her lips tightly, suffering from a sudden resurgence of panic. Her head throbbed painfully. Why did it seem as though something was closing in on her? Breathless she clung to each syllable rattling off of Lady Felicity's butterfly mouth.

"If Caroline is not exaggerating, her brother's savior from a fate worse than death is none other than the estimable Mr. Darcy."

"How so?" It was Elizabeth's question but not her voice. She raised her cloaked eyes to the baronet. His gaze narrowed on her pale face. He openly studied her expression before reiterating. "How so Felicity? How is Darcy to blame?"

"To blame? By Caroline's admission he is meant to be praised, even if I do think his approach resembled subterfuge more than salvation."

"His approach? Felicity, do be clear. Of what exactly does your Miss Bingley accuse Mr. Darcy?"

"Why of breaking up the objectionable match of course. Caroline swears her brother would listen to no one, be swayed by no one other than Mr. Darcy, to give up the girl. I feel for Caroline but I must laugh that her brother is so thoughtless and that his only means of saving was through a dull lecture from such a tiresome snob as Lady Catherine's favorite nephew."

"And you are certain it is Mr. Darcy's doing?" Elizabeth strained to subdue the accusation in her voice, adding in a more even accent, "Not the doing of Mr. Bingley's disapproving sister?"

"Yes. I'm certain. Although Caroline never disclosed his name she wrote that the hero of her brother's current single state has an aunt who shares a border with Cumberbatch. Who else can it be but our very own Mr. Darcy? Since I first met him I've been so afraid of him that I would—"

"Fitzwilliam," Sir Gregory interrupted. "The nephew could be Colonel Fitzwilliam or his elder brother."

Lady Felicity's childish glee began to waver at the note of insistence in her brother-in-law's tone. She turned her puckered face to Elizabeth, only to see an equally mirthless expression.

"You two are a dreary lot all of a sudden. But no, Gregory, I do not believe Caroline even knows any of the Fitzwilliams. It cannot be any person but Mr. Darcy of Pemberley."

She laughed again but failing to garner any such reaction from her somber audience declared that a chill now hung in the evening air and she wished to return to the parlor to bid farewell to Mrs. Collins. Disappointed but already humming a jolly tune she flounced away without a backward glance.

Elizabeth barely noticed her departure. She certainly had hardly listened to the remainder of Lady Felicity's tale. That ethereal sense of foreboding had hardened into a depressing reality. Somehow all of the light from the day's revelations had slipped beyond the horizon with the sinking sun. The day was gone, the joy vanished.

As much as she wanted to shout down the accusation as false, she knew it must be true. If Caroline Bingley was not mistaken, and in this matter she believed the shrewd Miss Bingley would never be mistaken, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Darcy alone was the cause of some creature's broken heart. Who the lady in question was, Elizabeth knew straight away. A sick heaviness instantly settled upon her. It must be her very own Jane.

For as soft as Charles Bingley's heart might be and as prone as someone of his malleable nature was to falling violently in love from time to time, Elizabeth trusted that his character and memory were not so impressionable as to forget the beauty and grace of her sister in such a brief span of months. No indeed, Jane, lovely Jane, could not be forgotten as easily as she had apparently been forsaken. Any other conclusion would be madness in the face of such obvious reasoning. The two persons involved in this "objectionable match" were irrefutably her sister and her sister's former lover. And the one to object was neither friend to the gentleman nor anything but a fiend to the lady, and by extension to that lady's family.

Disgust, rage and shock toward Darcy washed over Elizabeth's mind and body but of all the wrong that his apparent officiousness had inflicted it was the hypocrisy of his attentions toward herself that stung the most, hitting her with a cold and bitter force. How was it possible for a man, a gentleman nonetheless, to treat a lady with such tender regard and to abuse that lady's sister with a calculating disregard? With whom had she fallen in love? Could she even call it love? In body and soul she truly felt unwell.

Sir Gregory watched the spiral of emotions swirl in her distant eyes. The pallor of sickness on her normally ruddy complexion. He asked if she wanted to sit down or return to the house, but Elizabeth, who had almost forgotten his presence, declined.

"I am rather fatigued is all," she weakly replied, lifting her skirts to walk toward the Hunsford back door.

As she stepped forward, the warmth on her brow suddenly sizzled with a fever. Every muscle and fiber ached. Her legs melted and she tumbled downward. Gentle hands broke her fall and she had a vague recognition of Sir Gregory's anxious face before her burning lids closed shut.


	17. Chapter 17

For two days Elizabeth flitted in and out of miserable sleep or miserable waking. Blurry impressions of Charlotte attending her, an apothecary administering to her or the housekeeper sopping her brow marked the passing of these endless hours. Her sickness twisted her memories of the last couple weeks. Her dreams mixed with her muddled reality.

Sir Gregory's puckish grin would melt into Mr. Darcy's pleasing smile. Sharp pains and vague jolts would pierce through her consciousness. Her heart rocked back and forth and her mind would not be at peace. The anxiety and exhaustion from the turbulent days seized control and demanded command of her senses.

At one point in her heat-stricken haze she bolted up and commanded both Mr. Darcy and Sir Gregory to leave at once. Charlotte and Mariah, who had been exchanging her drenched nightgown for a fresh one at the time, laughed and told her that she was quite safe from any gentlemen callers.

"Although not from their well wishes," added Charlotte, casting her eyes about the room, full of hot-house flowers from Mr. Darcy and wild bouquets from the baronet.

Elizabeth did not hear her friend's remark. She had already sunk back onto the bed, falling into a restive delirium.

On the dawn of the third day, her fever broke with the morning light. Her fitful rest stilled into a peaceful slumber that lasted well into the afternoon. At length she opened her eyes and weakly sat up. She had to blink several times, rubbing her knuckles over her lids, before she believed her own eyes. Cluttered about the room were clusters of flowers, blooming and budding in ceramic vases and cracked canisters—one bundle cascading out of a chipped teapot.

"What on earth…" she wondered, her parched mouth crackling.

"We were forced to improvise in order to accommodate all of the generosity of your admirers," explained Charlotte, startling Elizabeth.

Mrs. Collins sat grinning in the corner chaise, her lavender dress blending in seamlessly with the pastel hues of the flowers. Elizabeth caught her breath and smiled in return, raising her hand to her cheek. Her limbs yet quivered with exhaustion and her head throbbed from lack of use.

"I mistook you for a lilac Charlotte."

"I can readily imagine," her friend replied, looking tired but relieved.

"How many days have I been ill? It all seems but a dream, a weary dream."

"About two days."

Elizabeth could hardly believe it—two days! She could not recall a time in her life when she had been so unwell. Her health had always been stout. Lydia and she always ended up being the nurses instead of the nursed (and Lydia usually was not much help) when an illness settled over Longbourn. Not this illness though. Two days lost in a world of fever and aches was no trifling matter.

As the fair invalid accepted this fact, Charlotte stood and walked to the bed, sitting at the foot of it. Her content expression furrowed into a grave frown, her quick eyes assessing Elizabeth.

"I nearly sent for your mother, Lizzy."

"Was I really such a bother?" she asked in amazement, thankful for a multitude of reasons that Mrs. Bennet had not been summoned. The very thought of her dear mama within earshot of the flattering Sir Gregory made her want to pull up the sheets and feign a new sickness.

"You were no bother. Not nearly as much as other potential guests might have proven to be," replied Charlotte with a knowing smirk. "And it was certainly no bother to heed Mr. Kingsley's advice to draft a letter to your home if the circumstances required it."

The housekeeper shuffled in with a tea tray and Elizabeth gratefully, if not shakily, accepted the steaming cup. With a sigh she took a long sip.

"Mr. Kingsley? Who is Mr. Kingsley?" she asked, warming from the comforting liquid. "I thought the apothecary's name was Mathews."

Charlotte nodded first to the exiting housekeeper and drank from her own brimming cup before responding, with great trepidation, "Why the doctor that Sir Gregory brought in from town."

Elizabeth choked on her mouthful of tea.

"He did what?"

Charlotte enjoyed a rather languid sip, answering, "Sir Gregory sent for Mr. Kingsley, I believe, the same hour that you fainted, directly after he deposited you in this room."

Elizabeth gagged again. Charlotte took pity on her gasping friend and hastened her recital. Abandoning her leisure pace she informed Elizabeth that Sir Gregory had carried her into the parlor, with the look of death upon his face, and had immediately offered to deliver her directly to her bed. As Mr. Collins had also fallen ill that evening (though his case was by no means as severe as Elizabeth's), the mistress of Hunsford had gladly agreed to the baronet's proposal.

"He was so distracted, Lizzy," said Charlotte, raising her brow, "that I had to ask him thrice to leave your bed chamber. He paced about here for at least a whole minute before he finally recollected himself and departed. Lady Felicia and he took leave from the parsonage very shortly after, long before I was able to return to the parlor. The apothecary arrived later that night—having received his errand from Sir Gregory—and the doctor from London came, accompanied by the baronet, the following evening."

Elizabeth set her cup on the bedside table, the tea slopping onto the saucer, and wonderingly shook her head. She was undecided whether she ought to be more mortified by the fact that Sir Gregory had laid her in bed or by his impetuous, and presumptuous, solicitation of a doctor on her behalf. Her gaze drifted along the verdant, floral décor brightening the chamber walls, narrowing in on one particularly bountiful festoon of roses.

"Are all these bouquets from Sir Gregory? Is there a flower that remains unplucked in all of Kent?"

"No to your first question and I could not say to your second, but I daresay you already suspected as much."

Elizabeth could not lie. It was peculiar, perhaps, but as her eyes again trailed around the room she could easily match the gift to the giver. The chaotic, charming assortments of petals and ferns from the baronet. The lush, subtle arrangements of bounty and beauty from Mr. Darcy.

She sighed heavily. Her sickness had not made her forget the heartbreaking gossip she had learned from Lady Felicia of Mr. Darcy's ignominious social triumph. Nor had the fever burned away the memory of his tender touch and her heart's powerful response. She sighed again.

"I have told you once before that I am not romantic," said Charlotte, watching the sad theater of emotions play over Elizabeth's face. "And my views have not changed since I married Mr. Collins. Matrimony is a game of chance, with the risks much higher than any at the card table. I do not claim to be an expert of either gaming or marriage but I will tell you that you are less likely to lose more if you wager less. In other words, it is safest to act on the surest bet."

"Are you actively trying to turn me into a spinster Charlotte?" teased Elizabeth, missing much of her usual levity. "Because the surest bet would be to foreswear all gentlemen and spend my days embroidering cushions and playing an instrument only passably well."

"Do try Lizzy. Most ladies are not so lucky as to engender the affection of one single man of good fortune, let alone two. If you do not make a match of it, I will be very put out with you."

Elizabeth knew her ever-practical friend would never understand the impracticality of rebuffing the attentions of both these illustrious gentlemen. But matters of the heart are never practical. Feelings do not spring form measured meditation but from a well of emotion, too deep to reach with anything but the heart's own strings. And once imbibed, those waters course through the veins heedless to the wishes of the drinker.

Lifting a long-stemmed rose from a nearby vase, Elizabeth studied it with a faraway look in her eye. She knew she doubted one gentleman and mistrusted the other. She knew she conversed with one and fought with the other. She knew she laughed with one and longed to commune with the other. And, pressing her nose into the soft petals and inhaling the honeyed scent, she knew she liked one very much and, yes, still loved the other.

Elizabeth glanced up at Charlotte, her glossy gaze hovering above the folds of the rose, and suddenly knew what she needed to do. Really, there was only one thing to be done. It was either that or an option she doubted her friend would support.

Well maybe Charlotte need to be informed of her scheme. With a mischievous light in her eyes, she smelled the rose again.

Smiling Charlotte leaned in and patted Elizabeth's hand.

"I see what you are thinking Lizzy and it will do you no good."

"What's that?"

"You would do yourself a real disservice and I an even worse one, if as your chaperone I would permit you to pretend you were sicker than you really are."

"Oh, dear, dear Charlotte," Elizabeth shook her head. Playfully chagrined at how easily her intelligent friend had read her intentions. "But you know I would never really do that."

"No?" asked Charlotte, sounding somewhat dubious.

"Yes!" she cried, grinning. "Right or wrong as that ruse would be, I would hate to imagine how many doctors Sir Gregory would call in if I were to remain in bed for more than another few days."

Elizabeth did not add the real reason for wanting to recover, and quickly. As much as she trusted Charlotte, she did not trust her with this. Laughing, she threw her head back onto her pillow.


	18. Chapter 18

It was six days from her collapse when Elizabeth felt well enough to brave the bright out doors and pay a visit to Rosings. During her convalescence she had perfected her plan—with the perfection that only premeditation possesses, as once events fall into motion things will undoubtedly fall apart. Still her careful planning of various possibilities buoyed her spirits with an indomitable hope of achieving her goals.

Her plan was simple, built on subtlety and not deception, with the wish of forthrightness but the wiles of finesse. In short, she sought to involve Georgiana in confirming or denying the bit of gossip she had heard about Jane and Mr. Bingley's separation, before approaching the accused Mr. Darcy. It seemed the ideal solution to her problem. Georgiana knew her brother best of all, she would know how best to approach this issue.

Elizabeth's step was light, if not a little weak, as she bounced up the drive and knocked on the formidable manor doors. Her only regret lay in the fact that Georgiana had not come to call, sparing her from this trip and the risk of facing Mr. Darcy prematurely.

Within seconds of her quick knock, the morose-mouthed butler had ushered her into the large drawing room, announcing her with little preface and no pomp. She sighed in relief, her hands resting at her sides, when she saw that only women occupied the room. The lone gentleman at Rosings was otherwise employed, as she had hoped he would be in the morning hours of a dry, sunny day. Though no horsewoman, she could still recognize a good day for taking a few fences.

"Ah, Miss Bennet, you are becoming rather familiar with us all, are you not?" was the only welcome she received from her ladyship, who deigned to raise her eye glasses to her face and scrutinize Elizabeth. "Quite familiar indeed."

Elizabeth did not know how to respond to such an impudent greeting, but happening to look around, she happened to catch Georgiana's eye and the two shared a silent, but amused moment of half-laughing chagrin.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" The noble lady asked, astounded she had yet to hear a reply. "This is not the first such visit you have made."

"Yes, ma'am" Elizabeth answered, bowing her head and discreetly winking at Miss Darcy.

As Lady Catherine did not outright object to her presence she chose to ignore her lack of civility, or invitation, and join the somber group, placing herself on the open cushion next to Georgiana. Elizabeth did not have an opportunity then to address her young friend with any thing more than a sweet smile, which Georgiana promptly and soundlessly returned. Unsurprisingly her ladyship had command of the discussion and had apparently been in the throes of giving her niece her expert opinion on music.

"Why you practice, practice, practice, dear girl, without ever performing!" she declared after several minutes of relating her excellent taste and acute ear for all things instrumental; woven in amidst multiple strictures on how Miss Darcy might improve her own sense of musicality. "Take Miss Bennet, as an ensample to you, she played for me once before you and your brother arrived and it was barely tolerable but she did not allow her deficiencies to detract her from doing her duty and performing when there was none other talent to be had."

Lady Catherine gave Elizabeth a curt nod, and wavered her mouth into what she must have imagined was a smile. The gesture evidently meant as a complimentary condescension.

"Thank you," Elizabeth responded with a questioning tone.

"You are most welcome, Miss Bennet," her ladyship said, shifting her gaze back to Georgiana. "Now, niece, you must follow your friend's lead here, although, she ought to follow your example of practicing far more often. What a disgrace this state of affairs is. One who practices but does not perform and one who performs but does not practice!"

"I do sometimes," began Georgiana in a hushed objection, but here she was interrupted.

"Since you are amongst family and inferiors, there should be no hesitation in playing a piece or two now, as it is the morning after all."

Georgiana quickly, and breathlessly, begged to be excused from such a spontaneous display; her fears of performing for her aunt outstripping even her fears of offending her aunt. Lady Catherine scoffed at her niece's terrified entreaty and insisted, nearly commanding her to stand and perform. Elizabeth, sympathizing with her friend, decided to insert herself into the awkward situation and propose she perform first, as she did not mind the public practice and the use of such a fine instrument. Her ladyship hesitated, at last relenting and shooing Elizabeth in the direction of the piano-forte.

Soon Elizabeth's fingers danced along the keys, her concentration consumed by the familiar tunes and less so by the loud invectives of her ladyship—who continued to harass Miss Darcy and holler instructions at Elizabeth about her lack of execution. The fair performer's mind wandered in and out of the conversation and composition, thinking how best to extract Miss Darcy from this suffocating room and possibly engage her in the plot to sound out the facts of her brother's involvement with the dissolution of Jane's hope and the devastation of her happiness.

She reached to turn the page, having only marginally followed the lines of music, knowing this particular piece by memory, when a man's voice sounded near her ear, asking, "May I help you with that Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth jumped. Her hands crashed down onto the keys, sending a dissonant chord out into the room. She looked up, the jarring note still vibrating in the air, and locked eyes with Mr. Darcy.

"May I?" he asked again, lifting one brow and making no apology for his sudden appearance.

"Yes," she breathed, snapping her head back around, her gaze blurry and her heart pounding. Her hands woodenly returned to the piano, her fingers stroking and drumming the keys without her command. Her mind became ensnared in a flurry of thoughts, eager and agitated—or perhaps agitated and eager. Vaguely she heard Lady Catherine herald her nephew and his polite but definitive refusal to come and sit, hearing also, as though from a great distance, that lady's more vociferous opinions on the absolute abomination of Elizabeth's lack of rigor in practicing.

Darcy turned another sheet, his hand hovering a hair's breadth from her cheek. Elizabeth nearly lost her place in the piece again.

What should she do? How should she act? These questions streamed over her mind as the music flowed through her fingertips. A great flush crept over her skin. She had never been in love before—if she had not known it before, she knew it now. In his presence, even all of her doubts and misgivings about his character faded into near oblivion. Not one to overflow in mirth, she discovered she was nevertheless one to implode with excitement. All her wits grappled to subdue and suppress the expression of those sentiments which burst beneath the surface.

Somehow Elizabeth had intuited this rush of feeling would be her reaction when she saw him again. Somehow she had understood this truth about herself. And for that reason, among other things, she had set out to speak first with Georgiana and second with the brother. Now having those initial impressions confirmed she wondered how she should accomplish her designs.

In this new, frenzied state she worried that her disturbance of spirits would be too great to meet him with any amount of circumspection or composure. Her investigation into his actions would devolve into an inquisition, her happy agitation into an angry indignation. Or was she just lacking clarity of mind as he lurked so near, the scent of leather and pine, grass and salt in her nose? Her pulse quickened more by the unexpectedness of his approach than by his mere presence?

She missed another easy cluster of notes, her fingers jamming dissonantly, when he shifted and his jacket tickled her shoulder. It would never do for her to dissemble into hysterics and act like Lydia or Kitty in a camp of soldiers. Instantly, almost laughing at her own silliness, she decided anew to approach Georgiana first with the burden that troubled her heart. Why risk an argument with Mr. Darcy if the point of contention proved untrue? She would much rather pass the time in more agreeable conversation with him.

Thus when she finished the piece, she abruptly stood up and walked swiftly back to her place next to Georgiana, before Darcy even had the chance to offer her his arm. From the corner of her eye she perceived his progress across the drawing room. Quickly she turned her gaze away from the window where he had decided to stop. Its position rested directly in her line of sight.

Avoidance was her object, at least for now. It was not fear of him, she told herself, that drove her into this path, but rather affection. If she had been completely honest, she would have admitted it was both.

Lady Catherine talked on, now addressing Mr. Darcy more than anyone else. His early arrival did alleviate some of Elizabeth's discomfort, though the relief was small and empathic in nature. His coming had successfully banished his aunt's attempt at forcing Georgiana to the piano bench.

After another quarter hour, Elizabeth was able to make her exit. To her disappointment it was not alone; to her dismay, or was it delight, her companion was not Miss Darcy. Georgiana, with sincere apologies, had regretted that she had already promised to go riding with her cousin, vowing to call at the parsonage tomorrow morning. Waving and heading out the door, Elizabeth had thought she had made her escape when she heard the shuffle of boots skipping down the drive and again looked up to discover Mr. Darcy staring back down at her, his eyes pools of nameless depth.

"I was just about to make my annual tour of the park, Miss Bennet," said he, placing his hands behind his back and slowing his step to match her own. "If you are not otherwise opposed, I would like to escort you as far as the parsonage gates."

Sighing, trembling, she mumbled her assent. As they moved away from the house and under the canopy of trees and hedges that lined the path back to Hunsford, she accepted that her plans of a more circuitous, cautious approach were obsolete. She started formulating her address, selecting her words with precision and, she hoped, a lack of passion or accusation. So distracted, she failed to notice her silent companion's agitation until her attempt at initiating conversation was preempted by the gentleman's own remark.

"I swore to myself I wouldn't impose on you or insinuate myself into your confidences but I find I cannot keep silent on this matter—I must know, regardless of the consequences—do you already have an understanding with Sir Gregory? " He halted and stepped in front of her, his face taut and his voice strained. His deep eyes searched her face for answers. "Please be frank."

Elizabeth colored, amazement and confusion stilling her tongue. Silently she stared up at him, her mouth agape in shock. This he took as confirmation enough. A pale fury bled down his face. His jaw flexed and he spun around. The violence of his quiet rage induced her to move and speak as nothing else. She opened her mouth to contradict his evident ire and negate his assumption. Again Darcy intercepted her attempt.

With barely repressed anger, he began, "I know I must blame myself for the share in this misunderstanding, as my own intentions have been less than constant, but my sense of honesty urges me, in fact, compels me to inform you that while my designs on you have been inconstant my affections never have strayed. Not since almost the first moments of our acquaintance have I desired to engage my attentions elsewhere, your wit, your vivacity, and your selfless care for the feelings of others were such as to form that ground-work of admiration that I believed immovable—until this moment. Your duplicity, Miss Bennet, astounds me."

Elizabeth had no trouble finding her words this time. His bitter professions of love had pierced her with an acute, almost physical sting. Injured wrath unfurled her lips, yet she tried with the utmost to speak with composure when she said, "You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that I am the duplicitous one. Before you so eagerly and incorrectly cast me off as a conniving and immoral woman, I would like to hear your poor justifications for already having done so to my sister."

His angry face twitched in surprise, but he said nothing and she continued, growing more and more irate every minute, "I was going to ask if the rumors were true, I did not want to assume the worst of a man I had begun to consider as one of the best, that I had begun to care for—but now, after your baseless accusation, I must accept as certain what I had hoped was false. That you—without regard to truth or tenderness—willfully and maliciously separated my sister from Mr. Bingley—leaving her to be scorned by the world and her lover to be ridiculed for caprice. Do you deny it? Do you consider my sister unworthy—as unworthy as you now consider me?"

Elizabeth glared up at him, her chest rocking with furious hurt. Darcy's expression calmed. He leaned closer to her. His intense gaze fixed on her face.

"You are not engaged to Sir Gregory?"

Wanting to stay mad, finding it more and more difficult to do so the closer and closer he came, Elizabeth darted her eyes away and shook her head.

"No, I am not engaged."

He gasped, somewhere between a laugh and an exclamation. She flicked her eyes back to his smiling, much too close face.

"How do you justify—" She started to demand, but for the third time, Darcy cut her off. This time with a kiss.


	19. Chapter 19

Elizabeth was so stunned by Darcy's sudden display of affection that she stood still, her eyes wide open, her spine arched and her hands splayed outward in rigid shock, for the duration of the kiss. His lips moved over her unmoving lips, her mouth parted in a surprised, pretty oval. The whole of her mind was subsumed by her absolute astonishment; leaving no space for excitement, not even an awareness of how very wet it all was.

After what might have been several seconds or minutes—Elizabeth in no condition to accurately estimate—the gentleman recollected himself, or perhaps became aware of his lady's diffident response, and withdrew.

"Forgive me," he said raggedly, meeting her stare with his particular blend of intensity and reserve. And, although his words begged her pardon, his tone and face asked for neither. Such an unapologetic apology could only spur Elizabeth's rising embarrassment into outrage.

The pink in her cheeks darkened into red and her chest began to heave with indignation. All the anger and mistrust about her unanswered questions in regard to Jane coalesced with the affronted mortification that his ardor had provoked. She balled her fists and hotly replied, "I do not forgive you."

He started at this but she did not stop.

"No, sir, you are not forgiven. I can tell you feel no compunction. How dare you take such liberties with me! What right have you to impose yourself—to insinuate yourself with me? What have I ever done to make you believe I would be accepting of this sort of common, relaxed adherence to moral boundaries? Perhaps you are used to the slick and the fashionable, to the enlightened and debauched of town but do not think because I have an easy laugh I have an easy sense of propriety. I am no simpleton—and you clearly are no novice. Take your advances elsewhere. I want none of them."

She spat the last word out as a malediction and twirled on her heel. Staring at the ground she attempted to compose her mind and mood. With a great exhale she unfisted her hands, willing her temper to calm and her heart to slow, and elegantly faced the silent Mr. Darcy.

He looked at her, his eyes and expression dark. Her curse hung between them. The brightness of the day now somewhat dimmed. A bird warbled in a nearby tree, its happy song breaking the uncomfortable stillness.

He took a step towards her and asked, barely masking his resentment, "Do you think I am trifling with you? Do you understand me so little—still?"

"I understand that I asked you about my sister and Mr. Bingley, and you refused to answer me, you refused to acknowledge my complaint or to give me the clarity I lack."

He searched her face and she searched his. Both attempts were futile. Most of her ire was wilting against the fire in his expression.

Suddenly, overcome with emptiness and fatigue, she bowed her head and said almost to herself, "How am I to understand you, if you do not even hear me?"

She heard nothing but the quiet rustle of his feet on the dirt. Soft fingers cupped her chin and tilted up her face. Darcy's eyes spun with untold secrets, his cheeks as flushed as she was certain hers were.

"I heard you, Elizabeth. Yours is the only voice I've heard for many months."

He dropped his hand and turned away. Breathless she watched him begin to pace. His agitation revealed itself in every quick pivot and sharp dig of his boots into the dry path. His gaze rotated from the ground to her face, from the trees to her face, from his hands to her face.

At last his feet halted and he said, "Yes. Yes, I did all I could to separate my friend from your sister."

The little hope that Lady Felicia's gossip had been just that, gossip, withered. Elizabeth gasped and clutched her neck.

"Why? How—"

"The how is of little importance. Bingley is a modest fellow and not above taking advice from a friend, especially as it relates to potential wives. And while you may find my reasoning insufficient, I hope you will not impute undue maliciousness to my conduct. I cannot even now look down upon it. I saved my friend from years of heartache. While the provenance of your family is less than noble, particularly on your mother's side, the lack of blood is nothing in comparison to the want to breeding I saw so often displayed by your three younger sisters, your mother, and knowing full well how this may offend you, even by your father."

It was Elizabeth's turn to start but Darcy continued, heedless or insensible to her chagrin.

"All of these social deficiencies, however, are nothing, nothing compared to the deficiency of affection I perceived in your sister. I observed her most acutely for the remainder of the Netherfield ball, after I had the great pleasure of dancing with you, and despite my efforts, and even I would say my impartiality, I could detect no amount of tenderness or admiration in your sister's heart for Bingley. And forgive me my lady but I was not about to allow my dear friend to enter into a marriage devoid of love if I could in anyway persuade him to act differently."

Elizabeth underwent a carnival of emotions during his speech, anger, embarrassment, disbelief and finally humility. Much of her still wanted to hurl hurtful words at his head, to deride his poor justifications and set down his arrogant handling of his friend. Yet a cool voice of reason, tendered by the warmest feelings of regard for him, demanded that she extend mercy for his faults and demonstrate grace for those parts of his explanation that needed little correction—namely his assessment of her family's oft-wild behavior and Jane's reserved nature. She wondered how she might have reacted differently had she not already loved him. She wondered how he might have addressed her under different circumstances. Would it be this unassuming? This heartfelt and compassionate?

Wondering still, she turned her gaze to him and said the only words she thought mattered. The only words that might change anything.

"Bingley is a deserving man, certainly a man deserving of enjoying the felicities of a marriage founded on love. And despite your impressions, my sister would have offered him her entire heart had she been given the chance." Her breath catching in her throat she moved nearer to Darcy and added, in a soft voice, "We Bennets are not so easy to read, but I assure you, we have hearts that wish to be read."

She stood less than a foot away from him, her entire body trembling from nerves. Her boldness surprised her. The swift fluctuations of her mood were not in her habit. But Elizabeth could not be exempt from the pitfalls and follies of love. It makes a king prostrate himself before a pauper, the shy cry out from the mountaintops, or those of the steadiest natures to reel to and fro as a naive on a storm-tossed sea.

Darcy too seemed overcome with feeling. None of his stately torpor stiffened his expression. His smile was as soft as the fingers that began brushing against her jaw.

"If I have made an error, then I will correct it. I cannot promise Bingley's feelings have remained constant but I will at least encourage him to return to Netherfield when next I see him. I did not wish to make you think I considered your sister unworthy. And you, you could never be unworthy."

His words tumbled out in a hushed whisper. Elizabeth doubted he had any idea what he had just promised to do. She would have interjected but the look in his eye drove all other thoughts from her mind, even thoughts of Jane.

Darcy raised his other hand to her face, tenderly pressing both his palms against her cheeks. "If you can forgive me so quickly for the injury I caused your sister, I pray you might forgive me for the injury I caused to your virtue when I allowed my passion for you to overcome my respect for you." His thumbs circled her skin and he licked his lips. His eyes drifted to her mouth. "But you were right, I was not sorry for the kiss."

"Mr. Darcy..." Her words faded on her parched tongue.

"But perhaps if I gave you fair warning, you would kiss me in return? Perhaps if I told you I love you and want you to be my wife?"

He shot his gaze up, his dark eyes asking for her permission, for her consent. Barely breathing she nodded, an infinitesimal and silent yes.

This time when his lips touched hers, she was not swept away by shock but by an overwhelming rush of release. Her body swayed into his, her hands unwittingly wrapped around his neck and her mouth eagerly sought to express the colors and shapes of her heart. Her eyes shut and all she saw was the red light of the sun soaking through her lids, the red heat of his lips on her own.

The two became lost in each other, neither aware of a newly-arrived witness to their embrace.


	20. Chapter 20

Elizabeth saw the onlooker first. The kiss had ended, but the embrace had not. Her cheek was pressed against Darcy's shirtfront. She could hear the rapid pounding of his heart, blending with the quick beat of her pulse. Sighing, she opened her eyes.

Georgiana stood a few feet away, a willowy figure draped in white. Her slender frame was almost hidden in the forest of birches and oaks. At the look on the young lady's face, Elizabeth did not know whether she should laugh or cry. As a compromise, she gasped and pulled away. Her sudden movement alerted the gentleman of their silent companion.

"Georgiana," he cried, taking one step further away from Elizabeth. From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw him adjust his waistcoat and shuffle his feet. His flushed face drained into a shocked white.

The blatant evidence of Darcy's nerves nearly surprised her as much the presence of his sister. Another glance in Georgiana's direction and the comedy in the situation abandoned Elizabeth, leaving her with nothing but embarrassment. The young Miss Darcy appeared dreadfully mortified. Elizabeth was grateful when Darcy spoke again.

"How long have you been…" He cleared his throat. "That is to say, I thought you meant to take a ride with Anne this morning, over by the stream near the tenants' cottages."

Georgiana's large eyes quivered from Darcy to Elizabeth. Timidly she moved away from the shadows of branches and strips of sunlight. The crimson on her face deepened as she met her brother in the lane. Beholding the two together, the lanky delicacy of Georgiana and the bold poise of her brother, reminded Elizabeth of the first time she had been introduced to the shy creature. How unassuming and fragile the girl in the woman's body had seemed; how careful Darcy's care had been for his sister.

This recollection broke apart some of the iron in Elizabeth's feet, some of the humiliated wonder in her mind. Stifling her own discomfort, she trailed her way behind Darcy. Georgiana caught her eye and quickly bowed her head. Elizabeth thought she glimpsed a flash of a smile on the delicate face. Perhaps Georgiana was not as embarrassed as she appeared, or as scandalized either.

"Georgiana?" began Darcy, his voice tenderized by brotherly affection. "Why aren't you with Anne?"

"I had intended on accompanying her, it is true. In fact, Anne and I were on the verge of climbing into the carriage, when a rider galloped up the drive." Georgiana looked at her brother, raising only her eyes. The blue of them shimmered behind her veil of chestnut bangs. "Fitzwilliam, it was Christopher."

Elizabeth turned her head to Darcy. Her companion's tight face was now awash in confusion.

"Christopher? What is he doing at Rosings?" Elizabeth knew Darcy's nerves had not entirely abated, when he added in unguarded incredulity, "The colonel nearly kissed my feet a few weeks ago when I told him you'd be my companion to Rosings this year. He can't have come because he missed seeing our aunt."

Georgiana lifted her face, clamping a glove over her mouth. Her eyes were rounded in surprise. Her lips, however, must have been arched in a smile. For within a moment a giggle spilled out from behind her fingers. The easy laugh brought a return of comfort to the three, as little else could have done. Elizabeth grinned and Darcy even managed a soft chuckle. The levity faded quickly, but the restoration of ease remained—though small it was.

"Did Christopher announce the reason for his unexpected arrival?" Darcy asked, his accent now revealing nothing but his rank.

"Not exactly, no, but he did say that he had some urgent news he needed to tell you." Georgiana stood somewhat awkwardly before them, toying with the lace on her glove. "He was detained by our aunt from seeking you out immediately and so he begged me to come find you."

Elizabeth watched something pass between the two siblings, an understanding that she was not privy to knowing. The silent exchange did not make her feel alone, but merely lonely for her own sisters and family, most particularly for Jane.

Elizabeth understood enough to infer that this new arrival was the same Colonel Fitzwilliam of whom she had heard before. Despite the two Darcys astonishment at his coming, both were clearly pleased by it. Elizabeth could share in neither their surprise nor their delight and thus could not share in the conversation. She followed a sparrow's flight across the sky as Georgiana and Darcy talked on about the strangeness of this new visitor's appearance at Rosings.

Soon Darcy took his hurried departure, leaving Elizabeth with the warmth of his breath on her hand where he had raised it to his lips. But she did not have time to revel in that lingering sensation of heat tingling over her skin. Darcy had also left her with Georgiana at her side.

Miss Darcy silently fiddled with her gloves until her brother had disappeared around a bend. Elizabeth was also quiet as she attempted to articulate what had happened between Mr. Darcy and herself. She had decided on the approach she thought best when Georgiana's arms suddenly wrapped around her.

"Oh! Elizabeth I am so overjoyed!" she exclaimed, swaying back and clasping Elizabeth's hands. Her fair face glowed with a smile, the kind that only the young and hopeful possess. Its warmth spread outward to Elizabeth's heart and she smiled in return.

"You are?"

Georgiana, her eyes bright and her smile brighter, nodded.

Elizabeth squeezed her friend's hands and dropped them, spinning on her heel and gesturing for Georgiana to come. The happiness bursting within Elizabeth would not allow her to remain still. She must move. She must walk. She must speak.

The two friends moved along the path, chatting and chortling. The amiable, carefree conversation was in harmony with the music of the spring day; Elizabeth's divulgement of her slow reversal of affection for Darcy and the sudden realization of it an accompaniment to the song of the breeze and the birds. Georgiana's sweet, soft replies were in perfect pitch with the cheery day. Elizabeth confirmed that what Georgiana had just witnessed had not been without cause. It was in celebration of their mutual regard for one another, for their profession of love and intent to marry.

"I am sorry you had to…discover the change of my sentiments toward your brother in such a shocking fashion," Elizabeth confessed. They had wandered far from Rosings and even further from the parsonage and were now making their way back toward the more familiar paths. "It happened so suddenly—"

"Do not concern yourself for my silly sake," interrupted Georgiana, her pale cheeks burning red. "You are not the first engaged couple I have stumbled into who were...engaged in that activity."

"Indeed," replied Elizabeth, arching both brows. Something in the young face made her curious, and somewhat concerned. "Is there anything you wish to tell me Georgiana? I feel as though we haven't spoken in ages."

Georgiana darted her eyes away. She tugged a few leaves off a low hanging branch and began to shred them.

Elizabeth did not speak. She knew that comfortable silence was the best way to encourage the confidence of those who were more reserved and less forthcoming than she. Years and years of interaction with Jane had instructed her well.

Jane—Elizabeth's thoughts kept running back to her—how would her sister react when the long absent Master of Netherfield rushed back into the neighborhood? She doubted Darcy recalled the precise promise he had made on that score. She was fairly certain his attention had been otherwise occupied—but she was determined to help him remember, should he forget.

Georgiana sighed and Elizabeth's musings about Jane's situation were pushed back into the rear of her mind.

"Elizabeth…"

Georgiana halted, mangled bits of leaves dropped from her fingers. They floated to the dusty path. Elizabeth studied her friend's expression and bit her lip. How could one so young wear so many years in her face?

"If I tell you something, will you swear never to tell anyone?"

Such somber desperation drew an equally sober yes from Elizabeth's lips. Some of the pain fled from Georgiana's tense mouth.

"Thank you," she said, turning around and beginning to walk ahead. Elizabeth hurried her step to catch up.

"I had planned on telling you once I was well, but then you fell sick. Lady Catherine would not permit me to go and visit you, for fear I would catch the fever again and bring it back to Rosings." She smiled softly, an apology in her eyes and on her lips. "I nearly went against my aunt but in the end, I couldn't. Anne has such a delicate disposition. I would not risk her health in order to assuage my guilt."

"No, of course not."

Elizabeth touched her friend's arm, willing her strength into the timid creature before her, wishing she might at last reveal the true cause of her unease since coming into Kent. Perhaps it was the sunlight leaking through the trees but Elizabeth thought she perceived a gleam of confidence in Georgiana's eyes.

"I have wanted to confess this since we first became friends—you remember that day when I told you about Wickham?" She stopped suddenly and Elizabeth had to skip on one foot to avoid running into her. "Do you remember Elizabeth? That day we went on the phaeton and we talked for so long? How good you were to listen to me? Do you remember?"

"Of course."

Georgiana flattened her hand against her stomach and blew out her breath. Perspiration glistened along her bonnet. Elizabeth waited, anxious and still.

"I should have told you about Mr. Crolls as well."

Elizabeth forced her face to remain impassive, her tone calm.

"About Mr. Crolls and Mrs. Annesley?"

She knew before Georgiana jerked her head no what the answer would be. She knew the moment Georgiana had mentioned the name Crolls.

"Your brother confided to me that you did not trust Mr. Crolls, because he had flirted with you when Mrs. Annesly was absent. Did he do more than flirt Georgiana?"

Georgiana averted her face. Her flushed cheek soon dripped with silvery rivulets. She closed her eyes. Elizabeth reached for her and Georgiana fell into her arms. Her head sunk heavy onto her shoulder, wetting Elizabeth's sleeve with tears.

"He kissed me," she sobbed. "I let him kiss me Elizabeth. I didn't even allow Wickham to kiss me. I thought…I learned nothing from Ramsgate. I almost thought I was in love with him, until…until I happened upon him and Mrs. Annesley. She was the one he loved. I knew it the moment I saw how he held her. It was the same way my brother held you today."

Elizabeth listened, hushing her sobs and soothing her sorrows. The scene played out as a reenactment of their first day as friends. Only now Elizabeth comprehended all, knew everything. She wondered that she had never wondered before about Georgiana's sharp objection to Mrs. Annesley's marriage. How could she have been so blind to the reality of her tender friend's broken heart? To have one's heart shattered not once, but twice within a year would be more than even the strongest and wisest could endure.

After several minutes, Georgiana drew herself up. She tilted her chin and swiped the tears off her face. Elizabeth's eyes misted with tears at the quiet, brave gesture of her friend.

"I wish you had told me sooner, although I am so glad you told me now," she whispered. "You are just as blameless in this affair as you were in the first. How good and fearless of you to allow your heart to feel so easily, to be touched so quickly. Do not let the cruelty of one or two or even three men strip you of that virtue which is most precious and uniquely you—your forgiving, wonderfully meek heart."

Georgiana's head wavered, its regal pose humbling into softness.

"You really think so much of me Elizabeth?"

"I do," she answered, curling her mouth into a half-smile. "If I could be as generous and loving as you, I daresay I would have saved myself a fair amount of heartache. But now I will have you and my dear sister Jane to help me. Perhaps I will improve."

Elizabeth slipped her elbow through Georgiana's. She sensed Georgiana's perch on the edge of melancholy. A change of scenery and a change of topic would be the surest and fastest means of transporting her to more contented planes of thought.

"Come, if we are out much longer, your aunt is likely to send the hounds after us."

Georgiana giggled, even as she sniffled. Elizabeth breathed a prayer that the confession had ended with a kiss and that Georgiana's youthful vigor could withstand such devastating blows.

The two traipsed back through the park. Elizabeth steered them through the grounds and their conversation into nonsensical avenues. Soon her false jokes became real, her feigned smiles became free. She believed she had succeeded in completely distracting Georgiana from her sadness, Miss Darcy's unaffected laugh scattering a nestle of pigeons in a nearby tree, when Darcy and a gentleman Elizabeth assumed was Colonel Fitzwilliam suddenly came into view.

The two cousins were walking toward the two friends, some yards away out on the lawn. For the first time, Elizabeth began to speculate about the nature of Colonel Fitzwilliam's news. As soon as the gentlemen had joined them in the lane, she speculated no more. It was clear from Mr. Darcy's furious expression that the tidings had not been good.

Wasting no time with introductions, he said, "Forgive me for the informality, Miss Bennet, but Colonel Fitzwilliam has something to share with you." He glanced at the colonel and back at her. His eyes were hard. "It's about Sir Gregory."


	21. Chapter 21

It was late in the morning. A few friendly clouds streamed across the ocean of blue sky. Elizabeth sat in Charlotte's back parlor watching the pretty puffs of white scud by, thinking how blissful it must be to exist as nothing more than a trifling wisp. No tragedies to suffer. No heartaches to endure. No betrayals to feel.

This hour marked a full day since she had learned the unsettling revelations about Sir Gregory, revelations she still could neither fully believe nor easily forget. In a much more measured and sedate tone than his cousin could have achieved, Colonel Fitzwilliam had relayed the outrageous news that Sir Gregory's wife, Lady Cynthia, was not in fact dead, but had materialized in flesh and blood three days ago at the London residence of Colonel Fitzwilliam's good friend and fellow officer, Roger Grey, brother to the baronet. Elizabeth knew her disgust must have matched the indignation she had seen on Mr. Darcy's face as his cousin spoke. But the truth that this woman still lived was not as disturbing as the claim that had quickly become incontrovertible; the claim that Sir Gregory had always known of it and had been the main cause and orchestrator behind the elaborate ruse.

On hearing this, Elizabeth's shock was beyond expression, her wits beyond comprehension. She had cried out in alarm, colored in mortification and experienced a crashing wave of something she could only now, a day later, describe as pure and unmitigated horror. With a kindness she could only today appreciate, the colonel had answered each and every one of her unbelieving outcries and withstood her waning civility.

At last when she had fallen silent, the heavy truth of the news stopping her tongue, her knees had collapsed along with her tenuous composure. Georgiana had been sent away before the colonel had divulged his story, and so it was Darcy who had comforted Elizabeth, his shoulder soaked through with her tears, his arms lifting up her body, his voice soothing her aching heart. For it was in that moment of learning of the baronet's unimaginable treachery that she had discovered how deeply his love had cut her, how much she had begun to love him. If not for Darcy, she knew, she would have loved him much more.

How she had returned to Hunsford remained and ever would remain a smear of colors and impressions. She recalled telling a very concerned Charlotte, who had asked her what the matter was upon her entrance into the parsonage, that she had pushed herself too hard after such a long illness. Her recovery had been too short. Charlotte had shooed her up the stairs, tucked her into bed with all the clucking and care of a mother hen, and commanded her to remain indoors and under a hot brick. It had only been around noon but Elizabeth had very gratefully complied, for once not experiencing restlessness at being forced to stay in the house on a warm, sunlit day. Her mind had been whirring with such activity that she had hardly noticed the inactivity of her body.

Unsurprisingly Elizabeth had not slept well last night and therefore rose at a much later hour than usual this morning. At breakfast Charlotte had repeated her considerate edict, instructing Elizabeth in no uncertain terms that she must keep to the back parlor or her room. "I will not deposit you back to your father's door step ten pounds and three shades too light," she had said, before departing with Mariah on some errands in the village.

And so there Elizabeth dutifully and drearily sat, her weary face reflected in the window panes and her lightless eyes staring up at the sky. How could the baronet have made her such pretty speeches and talked not only of love but of matrimony—while his wife lived and breathed? How could he have such small respect for her, for society, for God? How could she have given, even a morsel, of her heart to such a devious man?

These questions flourished and withered; the answers never coming. She marveled at her past indictments against Darcy's character. Even if the entirety of those failings had proven true, how small a penance he would have owed. How white those sins would be when compared to the black marks upon Sir Gregory's soul. She wished she could completely forget the baronet, bleed out the poison of his love from her heart. But she could not. And so to the swirling mixture of emotions she had experienced these last twenty four hours was added guilt, guilt that she could not wholly rejoice in her understanding with Darcy, in their as yet unannounced and unofficial engagement.

Elizabeth had not altered her attitude for fifteen minutes put together when her ears perked and her heart skipped at the sound of a horse on the gravel and a ring at the door. Her spirits fluttered with pleasure. Darcy had promised to call this morning. She pushed aside her regrets, flicking the morose thoughts away as cobwebs, and stood up to greet him. But her joy was soon banished; and her spirits were very differently affected, when she saw Sir Gregory walk into the room.

He immediately began an enquiry about her convalescence, imputing his visit to a wish of seeing how well she had recovered. With a deliberate grin on his face, he even had the audacity to make a joke of his calling the doctor from town. He talked and teased as he had ever been known to do and Elizabeth dropped back into her chair. Her civility uttered in cold wonder.

She sat still and watched him, dumbstruck and distracted. Could he truly be unaware of the confidences Colonel Fitzwilliam had shared with her? Yesterday the colonel had informed her that he had traveled with Roger Grey to Kent, Roger having determined to confront his elder brother without delay. She could not believe he would have been diverted from his purpose.

The baronet made another presumptuous jest that flitted meaninglessly through her mind, no more comprehensible than a fly buzzing near her ear. He turned to see her reaction and the sparkle in his merry face dimmed. Only too late Elizabeth realized he had expected her to give some reply. He took two steps closer to her and her heart seized up in fear. His shrewd eyes studied her. Was now the moment he would accept that the game was up?

She opened her mouth to say something, to say anything. She would rather he simply leave than endure this conversation, but his next words only increased her trepidation.

"I see," he said, stepping back. "You have chosen another."

He looked away. She could hear his heavy, angry breaths and see the tightness of his jaw. Her understanding dawned slowly. That study had been to ascertain her heart, not her mind. How strange! Sir Gregory _must_ be ignorant of her knowledge about him. There was no other conclusion. This realization calmed Elizabeth; somehow granting her the composure and sense she needed. She sighed in relief. If she could leave the discussion of his deception to others, she would. It was not courage she lacked, but something finer. It was will.

Nevertheless for a few moments she watched Sir Gregory in miserable silence, unable to contradict his assessment and unwilling to console him. She glanced out into the garden. The budding brightness of the scene was at odds with her dark thoughts.

"Miss Bennet," he called, drawing her eye back to him. He smiled ruefully, but something was amiss in the charming grin.

"You restore my faith in the fairer sex. To forgive Darcy for his interference, especially when he went as far as hiding from this Mr. Bingley your sister's residence in town, is truly divine."

"What?' Elizabeth asked instantly on alert, swallowing his flattering despite its bitterness. "You claim Mr. Darcy did what?"

"It is not my claim. Lady Felicia told me her friend Caroline confessed to calling on Darcy to assist her in concealing your sister's presence from her brother's knowledge. Apparently Darcy's response was so thorough it convinced this Caroline that the estimable Master of Pemberley held her in some esteem."

At Elizabeth's mortified silence, Sir Gregory raised his brows and smirked. Elizabeth averted her face. She did not know how much more of his lack of sensibility she could endure. She sensed a shift in her emotions; a change in her intent to avoid conflict.

"I assumed Darcy made a clean breast of his involvement when you approached him. Didn't he tell you he knew your sister was in town?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes and inhaled. She did not doubt the veracity of the baronet's claims. They seemed to fit in so perfectly with the other facts she had learned about Darcy's involvement in Jane and Bingley's rupture, but who was this man to throw a stone at Darcy? Who was he to cast even a pebble?

Suddenly Elizabeth stood and looked at him. Her eyes sparked. Sir Gregory's breath caught in his throat, mistaking anger for ardor.

"You are wrong, sir, if you believe that I choose Mr. Darcy without fully comprehending his character. I am perfectly aware of his faults and have accepted his offer of marriage."

The baronet started at this, but said nothing. She went on.

"And I will not permit you to hurl aspersions at or make insinuations about the man to whom I will, most eagerly, give my whole body and soul. The title of wife means much more to me, I have learned, than it does to you."

Sir Gregory started again, staring at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. In that instant she knew with certainty that he had not known she had been told the truth about his wife. She could hear his shallow, rapid breaths and see his amazement in every tense line of his face.

Some of her wrath faded, that portion of her heart still mourning for its lost love prickled. Suddenly, on this May day, she felt the chill of winter on her back. The cold trickled over her flesh as if she'd just moved away from the fire and into a January night.

Sir Gregory perceived the infinitesimal softening in her expression. He swiftly approached her. His luminescent eyes glowed brightly, the color in them a shocking blue.

"You must allow me to tell you the truth of the matter. Please I have earned that much, have I not?'

Elizabeth was not startled by his request, but by the sincerity of the address. She hesitated, unsure of how best to reply. He repeated his demand. That note of tender longing in his voice struck her, melting her resistance into resignation. Sighing, Elizabeth sat down and gestured for him to begin. He nodded and moved over to the hearth, leaning against the mantle with subdued elegance.

In a closed, distant accent Sir Gregory told of how only two nights after the birth of his sons he had demanded that their mother leave. How his heartbreak at her treachery had moved him to make such a desperate and unalterable command—divorce was out of the question, a false death would be cleaner. How only Mrs. Dewey, the twins' governess, had assisted him with the elaborate hoax, tricking the magistrate and producing false hysteria, planning the unnecessary funeral and performing the motions of mourning without any real feeling. How until Roger and Colonel Fitzwilliam had come to him yesterday with their discovery he had begun to believe he really was a widower.

During Sir Gregory's entire recital Elizabeth noticed he did not once use his wife's name, nor even use the word wife. He always referred to Lady Cynthia as 'her', 'she', or 'the mother.' His blank voice did not take on any more inflection as he described how and why Colonel Fitzwilliam and his brother Roger had seen 'her' in London, at Roger's town residence.

After living abroad for years, she had at last decided to return to England, on the arm of a foreign ambassador. She had only accepted the invitation, however, because she had somehow learned that Mr. Crolls had eloped. Although she had traveled far and wide, her heart had remained in the fair fenlands, in the calloused hands of Mr. Crolls. So desperate to know for certain if her former lover had found a new love, she had risked everything and paid a midnight call to her very stunned brother-in-law. Colonel Fitzwilliam was lodging at Roger's, when the visit was made.

For the first time, Sir Gregory paused and looked at Elizabeth. His fingers tapped errantly against the mantle's stone. His youthful face bore none of the scars of his weary past.

Elizabeth struggled to compose her expression into as equally bland lines as his. It was a difficult task, as her mind was anything but bland. Astonishment, mortification and pain—pain for Sir Gregory, pain for Lady Cynthia, and pain for their sons—deadened her spirits and clouded her thoughts. She opened her mouth, thinking he was waiting for her response. But once more his empty voice filled the tiny room.

"Last night was the first I have thought about her in years, and the last woman I thought I would hear about from my brother. When everything happened, it seems a lifetime ago now, I chose not to uncover the details of her relationship with Mr. Crolls. I merely wanted them removed—forever—from before my face and off my grounds. I sent Crolls on his way with tolerable recommendations and cared too little about her to ask if he was planning on keeping her in a nearby cottage or permitting her to find her own way in the world."

"Cared too little?" Elizabeth said, no longer able to act quietly indifferent. "But she is the mother to your chil—"

"No, she is not," the baronet smoothly interrupted. "She is the mother to his. And in the interest of those two innocent boys I have clothed, sheltered and cared for them for these six years. They are my one, or rather, two saving graces out of the entire sordid intrigue."

"But the boys—how can you tell your sons that their mother is dead when she is not? Did you not care enough for them to at least make certain that your terrible lie did not become a tragic truth?"

"Let us not be overly dramatic, Miss Bennet." She cringed at his slick, casual manner. "Of course I care for my sons. As for their mother—if she can even be called that—I did not banish her without her fine clothing and pin-money. I gave her a respectable bribe to leave me, and even bid her adieu with her lover. She has not wanted for anything and I never thought she would. Someone that selfish is always resourceful."

He chuckled darkly, his glossy eyes watching a memory Elizabeth could not see. In that strangely, detached voice, he continued.

"I only learned yesterday that she was left destitute no more than one month after I had expelled her from Cumberbatch and only a month after that she had risen to become a most sought after mistress to the foppish princes of Russia."

A disconcerting smile spread over his handsome face. Elizabeth shuddered, but remained silent. His cold reminiscences transfixed her with a grotesque wonder.

"Apparently Mr. Crolls wanted nothing to do with her once I had discovered their affair and fabricated her death. I suppose the man thought her face might have been recognized. A scandal of that magnitude would have been…unpleasant, for all involved. An unpleasantness I am only now appreciating, unfortunately. I know I was not in my right mind when I told her to leave. But true to his station, Mr. Crolls is a practical man and must have figured out for himself that women are aplenty but employment is not. Whatever his reasons, I am grateful he was seduced more by security than by wiles."

At last Elizabeth's disgust outweighed her marvel and she cried out, "How can you speak so blithely of this? What sort of man—"

Sir Gregory took two quick strides to her chair. His tall form loomed over her; his tanned face blanched a bitter white. Elizabeth swallowed her objection as he leaned closer.

"How would you prefer me to speak of these things? Would you feel more at ease if I were to weep and gnash my teeth? Would any amount of tearful entreaty on my part absolve me in your mind for my past actions? Believe me, Elizabeth, if I believed _that_ I would prostrate myself before you in sackcloth and ashes this very moment." His voice became brutally soft. "But I will not debase myself to you for nothing—to grovel at your feet and be rendered not only contemptible but derisive in your eyes!"

Elizabeth stared back at him. The hushed harshness of his words scared her. They trembled with a suave cruelty that she had never before heard. It was the kind she hoped to never know for herself.

Fear had flushed her cheeks and Sir Gregory took a step back, his anger quieting.

"Forgive me," he muttered. "I forgot myself. This…this has not been a comfortable day for me, but that is no excuse to cause you discomfort. You must believe me…I knew nothing of her whereabouts until the other week when I read Darcy's letter and learned that Mr. Crolls had married someone else. Only Mr. Crolls, Mrs. Dewey and I knew she was even still alive. I never imagined she would enter into my life again—even into its periphery."

Elizabeth could only nod. Suddenly she wanted him gone.

"I think it—"

The gentleman anticipated his dismissal and interrupted her. The stiff smile on his face was that of a desperate man.

"I spoke too soon. I am not above begging for your forgiveness and most certainly not above pleading for your hand."

Elizabeth gaped at his coarseness and replied, "You have a wife!"

"She is no wife to me—she never was!" His voice shook. He balled his fists. "What do I care what the law may say—what do you care? Truly my lady what do you care? Even as I speak I begin to hope anew for our situation. Who that would know of this would be courageous or foolish enough to call me out? Darcy is far too private and proud to ever involve himself in such a public ignominy and my brother would never ruin the family name by publicizing this disgrace."

Elizabeth stared up at him stunned, but her astonishment was not of the wordless type. Outraged and now offended she stood, forsaking formality.

"I care Sir Gregory. I care a great deal not only what the law says but what my own conscience dictates, what my heart dictates." She pressed her fist over her chest and lowered her voice. "Even if my heart had not already decided itself in favor of Mr. Darcy, even if it had been favorable to you, how could I have forgotten myself so much as to throw myself into the arms of a married man? Surely, surely you must see that your designs on me have not only been grossly inappropriate but, in every way, deceitful."

He scraped his fingers through his hair. His air was no longer that of the insouciant but the incredulous.

"You will marry Darcy then? Despite his treatment of you? I would never have mistreated you; I would never have maligned your family or your good name."

Her hand, still clenched against her heart, dropped limply to her side and she sighed.

"You have done so by attempting to align yourself to me at all."

"No, this cannot be." He jerked his head in obstinate disbelief, his bright eyes darting frantically over her face. "You are unlike other ladies. You might be persuaded by reason to understand. I would have confessed all to you. I nearly did the night you fell ill. That was my reason for coming, Lady Felicia was meant to distract Mrs. Collins."

"As you said yourself, sir, it would not have mattered." She could no longer meet his stubborn, pitiable gaze and bowed her head. "Please, I would like you to go."

Her downcast eyes watched his shadow ripple across the floor. It stopped at her feet. Elizabeth only had a moment to wonder before his fingers wrapped around her arms and he pulled her against his chest, whipping her head upwards.

"No," he said, his face in agony. "I remember at the picnic you teased that the fickleness of your sex makes for more forgiving natures. I am going to find out how much truth is in your seductive wit, Elizabeth."

He leaned down and kissed her.

Elizabeth struggled against his embrace, but his arms were too strong and his mouth was too persistent. His body and lips trembled against hers. She felt the force of his ardor, the pain of his loss and the potency of his hopes. When he would not relent, she ceased to fight. She waited, unmoving and unresponsive. Her still eyes watched his face grow hard. A memory of a different kiss rose up in her mind. But Sir Gregory did not shy away as Darcy had done when she grew passive. His kiss became more insistent, his hands digging into her arms. He kissed her once and he kissed her again. Each brush of his lips a stroke of desperation, a cry of despair. And then he drew away.

They stared at each other; injury on one face and fury on the other. Sir Gregory was the first to move. He swept his hat off a table and moved to the parlor door.

"I do love you," he said, before he exited. "Whatever else you think, that much has never been a lie."

The door swung shut. Elizabeth's calm crumbled. Her knees folded down and she stumbled back into a chair. Through the blur of tears she saw that the sky had turned grey.


	22. Chapter 22

Elizabeth looked out into the shadowy garden, unable to move or think. Her conversation only moments before with the baronet had left her desolate, reeling with nothing but emptiness. Her fury had faded with his exit. And now she only had her troubled mind to keep her company. She heard the crack of thunder. The sound echoed against the house. She watched the clouds tear open and water pour down.

The rain pelted against the parlor window's glass. The clothes hanging on the line outside flapped in the wind. Suddenly she needed to be useful. She jumped up and ran out into the garden. Her feet squelched in the mud. The rose bushes swayed under the weight of the storm.

Snatching towel and after towel, she moved down the line. Her eye caught movement to her left. Mr. Collins' garden spilled out here, leaving a clear view of the side yard. She turned and instantly flattened against the house. The towels slipped from her fingers.

Mr. Darcy and Sir Gregory stood only a foot apart. Their faces were drenched in anger and rain. Their bodies were rigid, their clothes plastered to their limbs. The black sheen of their coats glistened as an animal's.

Elizabeth panted. The rain raced down her face. Their heated words raced through the air, the drumming of the shower unable to drown out the argument.

"How could you Darcy? How could you tell her?"

"I didn't tell her." Darcy took a step closer to the baronet. "I had Fitzwilliam tell her."

"Oh yes, let us not forget to quibble over the finer details. The great Darcy never lies. His character is beyond reproach." The mockery in Sir Gregory's voice changed into malice. "Fitzwilliam would never have broken the trust of Roger without your instigation. He would never have confided such a thing to a woman he had never even met."

"She deserved to know."

"It was my place to tell Elizabeth, not yours."

"You are on thin ground, sir," Darcy warned. "Don't speak of her so casually. She's not one of your purchased women."

"I haven't incurred that sort of debt in a long time, old boy," the baronet jeered. "Apart from you, most men make mistakes in their youth and buy silly things."

"Yes and they pay the price for them in their old age."

Sir Gregory snapped his riding stick against the long grass at his feet. Droplets splashed upwards into the downpour. He looked at the ground.

"I would have told her."

"When?" Darcy's hands curled. He shirked his head. "Before or after you proposed to her?"

"Perhaps before, perhaps when I had divorced Lady Cynthia." Sir Gregory's voice dropped. It barely carried over the storm. He lifted his head. "I will divorce her. I can pay off the courts. No one need know."

"You can't spend your way out of everything. The English forsook indulgences along time ago. You've forgotten your religious studies."

"Don't preach to me, Darcy." It was Sir Gregory's turn to lean in; his face as hard as flint. "Neither of our hands are clean. No matter how blessed you have been. I never believed life was fair but I had hoped for more justice. You have wealth, standing, and a loving sister. But you are undeserving of Elizabeth, just as much as me. God cannot turn a blind eye to your pride forever and I pray neither will Elizabeth."

"Fortunately she is more forgiving than you or me," Darcy clipped.

Sir Gregory stood taller, squaring his shoulders.

"She loves me."

Darcy huffed out his breath. The sound blended with the wind and drowned into the rain.

"I know." He raised his chin. "But she loves me more."

Sir Gregory's next words rumbled indistinctly. Stuck against the house, Elizabeth could not hear what he had said. But she saw Darcy flinch. His low reply was also swallowed up in the noise of the thundershower. Sir Gregory didn't say anything more but Darcy must have seen something in the baronet's eye. His voice suddenly rose again above the garble of the storm.

"What did you do Gregory?"

"I think you know, _Fitzwilliam_."

The two stared at each other. The thunder boomed above. The rain fell all around. Elizabeth exhaled, breathless. Her chest started to expand again with tight, heavy bursts. She thought it was over.

In a flash Darcy's arm shot out. Sir Gregory's head whipped to the side. He grunted as his jaw cracked. He stumbled into the garden fence, catching himself on a post. Pulling himself up, he glared at Darcy. He swiped his hand across his lip. The blood smeared onto his thumb.

"Good one, old boy," he leered, before lancing a swift blow to Darcy's cheek.

It was mayhem. Their faces flushed with fire. Their grunts and groans pounded alongside the rain. The soft thud of fist against muscle and knuckle against bone sounded as another drumbeat on the wind. Elizabeth gagged on her own shock and impotence as the two men struck one another over and over. Her feet would not move. Her throat would not open.

Once when she had been visiting her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in London she had taken a wrong turn and stumbled into a street fight. A crowd of onlookers had shouted and screamed as the two, shirtless men had bruised and beaten one another. She had been stunned by the flesh, the violence and the rawness of it all. Her astonishment now was even greater.

She had no idea who was winning. She had no idea how long it had been going on. Mud and blood spattered their fine, tailored suits. Rips and gashes sliced across their skin and fabric. The rain still streamed down. The sky still bellowed. Finally Elizabeth shook herself free of the prison of her shock and pushed away from the house. She opened her mouth to cry out but someone else's voice filled the air.

"Enough!" shouted Lady Catherine, standing a foot away from her barouche. In all the commotion of the fight they had not heard the carriage wheels. Her ladyship's shrewd eyes darted around to every one in the side yard. Her eyes rested on Elizabeth a moment longer before spinning back to her nephew. The rain enhanced her noble mien, the austerity of her ancient face. "What can be the meaning of this? Explain yourself Darcy."

Both Darcy and Sir Gregory were breathing heavily. The baronet rubbed his neck and jaw. His eyes glanced behind at Elizabeth and then glanced her way again. Surprise, and something almost like regret, leaked through his red, blotchy face.

Darcy was still unaware of her presence. He straightened his wet, torn jacket, adjusting his sleeves with the meticulousness of a courtier. Water dripped from his spoiled coat tails and black hair. Elizabeth noted how he was favoring his left arm.

"The master of Cumberbatch and myself have had a disagreement aunt," he calmly said. "You need not concern yourself. I would not have you catch a cold on my account."

He motioned to her ladyship's barouche. Elizabeth followed his nonchalant hand wave and jumped. Mr. Collins lurked in the dark of the cavernous carriage. Although completely covered by the roof, her cousin's head was sopped in sweat. Even in her quiet anguish she almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the sight. It was all so ridiculous.

Lady Catherine elegantly sneered. The bright peacock feather on her hat drooped further down as she jutted out her jaw.

"I would expect this common, reprehensible behavior from the heir of Cumberbatch but I will not tolerate it from my own blood. You will explain yourself. I am not so easily dismissed, nephew."

Elizabeth could only catch the profile of Darcy but she imagined how frightening the arrogance she could perceive on one side of his face must appear when viewed in its full, haughty glory, especially when coupled with the menacing shine of the bruises blackening the under of his eye.

"This is neither the time, nor the place, to begin an inquisition," he said. "Let Mr. Collins come into his house and you and I, aunt, may finish this discussion later."

"We will discuss it here and we will discuss it later, of that you can be sure. Now answer me at once—why were you involved in a most despicable brawl? It stinks of foul play." She looked at Elizabeth. "The sort of rank, filthy behavior I would expect of those who seek to rise above their stations, whose very stench offends my nose as much as my sensibilities."

Elizabeth watched Darcy flex his jaw in unspoken anger. The offense and the lack of defense hit her, spurning her to action as nothing else could. She took two strides toward the group. Yet again her approach was intercepted by something else. A sharp chuckle chilled the air. Elizabeth stopped and turned to Sir Gregory. He flicked his eyes to her. She squinted at him through the torrent, whisking the droplets away from her face. She knew she had seen it again; a deep, throbbing expression of regret. But it had been infinitesimally brief. He began to laugh once more.

All but Darcy stared at him. The baronet's bizarre hilarity seemed to have confused even Lady Catherine into a momentary bout of silence. It certainly mystified Elizabeth. Unsurprisingly her ladyship recovered her voice first.

"And pray, what is it that you find so amusing?"

With a smooth elegance, Sir Gregory bent over and swiped up his hat from a puddle. He popped it back into shape and shook his head, grinning. His smile was uneven, one side of his lip marred by a crimson wound. His blue eyes sparkled. There was no warmth there.

"Oh nothing is as amusing as tragedy, my ladyship." He bowed with a flourish. "Except perhaps suspense."

With an insolent, cruel glint in his eye, he planted his hat on his head and strode over to Darcy. He smacked Darcy on the left shoulder, in a false show of sportsmanship. Darcy whipped his head around, his expression pained.

"Come on, old boy," he said coolly. "Don't you want to share the glad tidings with one of your closest relatives? If I had managed to capture Miss Bennet's hand and won her as my bride I would not be so shy about it. I would have already announced it in the papers."

Mr. Collins squeaked from his perch in the dry barouche. Lady Catherine and Elizabeth gasped. Each woman spewed out flecks of water. Lady Catherine's astonishment proved far more vehement and vocal.

"No! That cannot be true!" Horrified, her ladyship glared at Elizabeth. Her peacock feather was now completely wilted. Her grey hair matted against her high cheekbones. "Tell me it is not true Darcy. Are you engaged to Miss Bennet?"

He did not immediately respond to his aunt. Instead he flung off the hand that Sir Gregory had kept resting on his shoulder.

"I believe you were leaving when I arrived. Your welcome is far expired, old boy."

Sir Gregory smirked.

"Answer your aunt and I will leave you in peace."

"Darcy!" Lady Catherine shouted. "Do not be goaded by him. Answer me. Look at me."

Sir Gregory winked. Darcy's eyes quivered. His aunt's voice escalated in pitch and panic. The shower did little to deafen her indignation. Elizabeth watched, wondering why Darcy refused to answer.

"Tell me once and for all! Are you truly, officially engaged to Miss Bennet?"

"No," he answered, pulling his eyes at last to his aunt and away from Sir Gregory. "No, your ladyship."

Elizabeth heard it but she could not believe it. She clutched her throat in shock. From her periphery she saw Sir Gregory's smile widen, Lady Catherine's mouth shut, and Mr. Collins' fists draw into his chest. But their reactions were vague impressions on the edges of her vision and mind. Her eyes were centered on Mr. Darcy.

"What?"

It took a moment for Elizabeth to realize that at last, at long last, it was her voice that had broken through the storm. Her lips that had uttered the outcry.

Darcy stiffened and quickly spun around. His discolored face was painted in alarm.

"Elizabeth!" he cried, pushing past Sir Gregory and approaching her. His breathing was rapid. He licked his lips. "How long have you been here?"

Her gaze flitted to Sir Gregory's satisfied expression. She wondered if this had been his intent. And then, for the third time, his grin faltered. His mouth straightened and his eyes gleamed. Clear rivulets snaked down his face, slipping off from his soaking hat. She thought she noticed some slipping directly from his eyes. The memory of his anguished kiss tingled on her lips and tongue. The taste was as bitter as it was sweet.

"Elizabeth?" Darcy whispered. "How long?"

She looked back at him. Now was not the time to try and fathom Sir Gregory. She dropped her hand away from her neck and willed her body to stop trembling.

"Long enough to know that you ought not to be speaking of me so casually, sir," she replied, parroting his contemptible words to the baronet.

Darcy's eyes flared wide open. His bruises creased over his tight skin. The effort looked painful. Her hand itched to bind up his wounds, but her anger stifled the impulse.

"You saw it all?" Disgust settled over his lips, remorse into his eyes. "You've watched us from the beginning?"

"The beginning doesn't disturb me nearly as much as the last few minutes."

Darcy furrowed his bleeding brow. And then comprehension smoothed it over. He shook his head and blew out his breath.

"A little patience would benefit us both, my lady," he muttered.

Startling Elizabeth, he forced her arm into the crook of his elbow. He ignored or shushed all of her spluttering objections and swept her along the yard. Their awkward promenade blazed a trail of debris and mud across part of Mr. Collins' swamped vegetable garden. Darcy dragged her past an oddly reticent Sir Gregory and halted directly before his aunt.

Lady Catherine had returned to her barouche, and was shaking the rain off her clothes, scrutinizing them from the shadows of her carriage. At their approach, she pushed that drooping feather up and pursed her colorless lips.

"What is this madness you have been infected with Darcy?" She flicked the feather out of her face. "Something has addled your brain. Unhand Miss Bennet and step aside so that Mr. Collins may escort his cousin back into his home."

For once Elizabeth agreed with her ladyship, at least partially. But Darcy's grip was firm, and somehow intimate. His closeness warmed Elizabeth's skin. His body radiated heat through their damp clothes. Unknowingly she leaned into the wet warmth, even as she hesitated at his touch.

"My brain is whole, Aunt Catherine," he dryly said. "However my stated intentions were not. I was distracted from finishing my last thought."

Elizabeth realized the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Sunlight filtered through the departing clouds, reflecting off the pools dotting the yard. It glistened in tiny beads of light on Darcy's bruised face. He gazed down at her. His look drew a blush to her cheeks and a sigh from her lips.

"No, I am not _officially_ engaged to Miss Bennet, but I have asked for her hand informally," Darcy softly said. He turned to his puce-skinned, livid aunt. "And she has accepted that proposal, so I daresay she will most likely accept my more formal supplication and consent to become my wife."

Lady Catherine's speechlessness lasted just long enough for Elizabeth to hear the garden gate slam shut. She glanced behind. Sir Gregory had disappeared. The world felt colder. It felt warmer.


	23. Chapter 23

The barouche hurtled away, spitting mud and dirt onto Elizabeth's skirts. She watched the wheels ram their way through the uneven lane, the white of Mr. Collins' face bobbing in the rear window. Lady Catherine's departure had been so abrupt that she had ordered her carriage away, with her cowering rector still in tow. Her ladyship's bitter speech rang in Elizabeth's ears. Its acrimony stung her, its shrillness amused her.

With a thoughtful gleam in her eye she looked at Darcy. He had not spoken a word during his aunt's winded litany of the extent of his wrongs against his class, his friends and his family, most particularly her noble self. Elizabeth knew she could have never displayed such diffidence on her own; a tart retort would have undeniably slipped out of her mouth under different circumstances. But to the popping eyes and veins of his fuming aunt, Darcy had barely blinked. And so Elizabeth had likewise kept her tongue.

At some point during Lady Catherine's outrage the two had broken apart, they now stood a foot away from one another. Elizabeth could observe him much better from this distance. His gaze was fixed on a far-off point and he absently rubbed his left arm. In the blush of the warming sun, the dusky bruises on his face were almost beautiful. His wet hair was drying in disorderly curls and his clothes were tarnished in rusty stains. Something faint and tender stirred within Elizabeth's heart. Darcy caught her staring at him and she ducked her head away.

"I apologize that you had to bear witness to my aunt's cruelty, Elizabeth. Forgive me too for choosing not to counter her; I have had too many disagreements with her of late and have learned that it is best to simply ignore her initial reaction. Her storms pass much more quickly if weathered in silence." He paused and came to her, tugging gently on her arm. She lifted her face. "Do not distress, I will in good measure defend both you and me. My aunt, as you have seen, has a temper."

Darcy breathed this without so much as a whisper of anger, yet Elizabeth could tell that something lurked beneath his cool façade. He still held his left arm and although his voice had not faltered once, she had detected a slight edge to it. His mouth and eyes were tight; a visage of restraint. Summoning a playfulness she did not feel, Elizabeth dimpled and tentatively brushed her fingers across his bruised cheek.

"A temper, you say, sir? It is a family trait, I think."

She had hoped to elicit a smile, but Darcy only frowned. She dropped her hand away.

"I will be forever asking for your forgiveness, Elizabeth. I am sorry, deeply sorry, that you were audience to my lack in judgment, and patience. I wish you had never seen me act so boorishly. It pains me that you had to endure such indelicate behavior."

At the word pain, Elizabeth could see it. That was the feeling which burned beneath the surface. She knew he must be hurting, severe enough for him to attempt to conceal it. Not one to shy away, she invited him into the house so that they might do what they could to mend his injuries. Darcy searched her face a moment, before giving her a terse nod.

As they walked toward the parsonage, Elizabeth eagerly chatted, fearing the strain of silence. Whatever comfort or joy she had felt at the unexpected announcement of their intent to marry had been winnowed down to a feeble delight. Something ailed Darcy but she did not know him well enough to decide if it was the physical pain alone, or something more internal. She commented on the bluebells, on the rain shower and distractedly told Darcy that Charlotte and Mariah were in the village on some errand or another. She wondered aloud about their long absence, but immediately answered herself that the rain must have delayed their return. Neither said it, but she could see that Darcy was as relieved as she was that not a single Collins or Lucas was at home.

They stepped through the door and the housekeeper immediately greeted them, she had dry blankets and hot tea in the back parlor, she said, and would bring some ointments and bandages, she curtsied to Darcy, if the gentleman did not object. He did not, and she scurried off toward the kitchen. For the first time today, Elizabeth saw a flicker of real amusement on his face.

" _Mrs._ Collins hired her," he stated.

Elizabeth nodded, stifling a tepid grin. Darcy murmured an indefinite reply. He raked his fingers through his hair, tiny droplets sprinkled onto Elizabeth and the floor. He noticed and his hand twitched, as though he was about to wipe the speckles from her cheeks. But the hesitation dragged on and he remained still.

Nothing was said and the moment sunk into nothing. Elizabeth flicked away the water, her eyes curious and round. She walked down the narrow hall, feeling Darcy's stare on her back. Her spine tingled. Suddenly she was aware of how very alone they were. Unease crept into her mind and she pushed into the parlor.

She took a warm blanket off a table and put it over her lap, sitting on a high-backed chair in the corner, near the blazed grate. Darcy did the same. Elizabeth kept glancing to the chair by the window, where she had sat during her conversation with Sir Gregory only this morning. This morning! How many things could happen in such a short amount of time?

The ghosts from that terrible conversation, the memory of the baronet's anguished kiss, rose up in her mind. It became distorted, with images of his swollen face and bloody lip. She shivered. Darcy made some observation about the room and saved Elizabeth from tumbling further down that dark path. She hurried to the tea tray and poured Darcy and herself a cup, clinging to the peaceful normalcy of the chore.

The housekeeper bustled in, setting down the tray full of crushed herbs and torn up linen. She asked if she might be of assistance but Elizabeth politely waved her away; she was familiar enough from her many bruises as a child from climbing and falling off trees to know what the ointments were. Darcy watched her breathy explanation over the brim of his cup. The housekeeper excused herself and the parlor door swung shut with a shuffling finality.

Elizabeth could not look Darcy in the eye as she picked up the lemony-scented salve and tobacco concoction. A blush touched the planes of her cheeks. She stood before him and swallowed, only peeking at him once.

"I hope you do not mind a little more mess," she said, scooping up the brownish paste with her fingers and slowly touching them to his battered face. He grabbed her wrist and she stopped, meeting his quiet, intense gaze.

"I do not mind."

He released her wrist and closed his eyes. She focused on the bruises. It was easier. Her hands ceased trembling as she painted his many marks with the dark ointment. The room was so still, their shallow breathing the only sound. This was the nearest she had ever been to him, apart from their recent kisses, and soon she could not resist studying him. Even at the height of her disdain she had conceded he was a handsome man, but love had opened her eyes to his full attraction.

Streaks of amber were woven sparsely through his ebony hair. His tan ended along his neck, a slightly fairer skin peaked beyond his collar. Although only midday, a dusting of stubble peppered his jaw line, and with his cravat askew she could see some tufts of hair on his chest. Elizabeth finished and stepped back, flushed from the intimacy of this tranquil interlude.

Darcy's eyes flashed open. They were deep and unwavering. To her surprise he started to shrug out of his jacket, wincing slightly. Without a direct request, Elizabeth hurried to help him slide his left sleeve down.

"Thank you," he gasped, when it was done.

She bowed her head in acknowledgement and spun around to lay his jacket aside. When she faced him again it was her turn to gasp. Darcy was unbuttoning his shirt, with fast, sure movements. An expanse of dark hair extended over his chest. She darted her eyes away, a sweaty blush glossing over her skin.

"As I said, Elizabeth I am going to have to beg for your eternal forgiveness, and fortitude. I would wait until Mrs. Collins arrives but I am afraid I cannot endure the pain any longer. And as efficient as Mrs. Collins' housekeeper appears, I do not know how very good a person she is. I don't want my name, or my injuries, bandied about by unknown servants."

She nodded but could say nothing. Through her bristly lashes she saw him struggle to remove his arm from his shirtsleeve. She closed her eyes and inhaled, steeling her nerves, and her heart. It raced against her chest. Her blood gushed within her veins. She raised her head.

"I am at your service, sir," she said, stepping over to him and carefully slipping his arm out of the sleeve. Heat spread over her body even as bile rose in her throat at the sight. Mr. Darcy's arm hung loosely from his shoulder, deep purple lines crawling down toward his elbow.

"What…how did Sir Gregory do this to you?"

"The how is not as important as the why."

That was all the explanation she was to receive. He shook his head and in a brisk, bland voice instructed Elizabeth where she must put her hands and press her weight. He repeated his directives, asking her if she had any questions. She quietly, though firmly, told him no. Gently, nervously she acquitted herself of the difficult task he had set for her. Her fingers did not quake and her breath did not hitch as she rested her palms against his naked shoulder. If her heart did quiver, he need never know.

After a quick countdown by Darcy and a quick, silent prayer by herself, the detached limb was reattached. Darcy grunted, the unmarred portions of his face draining white. He muttered a low sigh of gratitude and sunk against the tall back of his chair, resting his eyes.

Elizabeth shakily walked back to her chair, sitting with forced posture and poise. Her dress was graciously draped over her toes, and she tapped them frantically against the floor. Despite her determination to keep her eyes locked on Darcy's arm or face, they did stray every now and then to his exposed chest and stomach. She had never seen a man with so little on so up close. His shirt still covered his right side and she tried to convince herself that this was a good thing. Modest women did not entertain the thoughts tempting to unravel her imagination.

"Would you like something stronger than tea?" she asked, desperate to distract herself from the grooves rippling across his abdomen.

"No, thank you," he sighed, opening his eyes. He sat forward and began to gingerly ease his arm into his sleeve. "I would rather wait for better things, and drink up some of my late uncle's excellent stores. The pain is not so bad anymore. And as you may have correctly assumed, this is not the first time I have suffered this particular injury."

"Ah, yes," she replied, shifting in her seat as he bent his head down and began buttoning up his shirt. He finished, his fingers as rapid and skilled as before and she let out a slow breath. That fire in her blood began to cool.

"I had suspected as much, you know."

Darcy hummed his soft assent. His attention diverted to other things. He smoothed his shirt, rewound his cravat and fixed his collar. He did all these motions in quick, assured strokes. Nevertheless it was the sloppiest knot and most unkempt attire on a gentleman Elizabeth had ever seen. Was this really Mr. Darcy, the impeccably mannered and fastidiously dressed snob of Netherfield?

"Elizabeth I promise this will be my last indulgence of your leniency today but if you do not object, I will keep my coat off until I leave."

She laughed and blinked in surprise, marveling that he would even request such a thing after baring his chest to her without a warning. What a peculiar creature—to pick and choose his formalities on a whim! He raised his brows at her laugh.

"No, no, please, make yourself as comfortable as possible." She glanced at the bandages and snatched up a few. "I will tie these together and make you a pretty sling."

"That is not necessary."

"Necessary or not, I will."

She needed the occupation. Her mind would not stay centered on the present. This day had dragged on and on, as unpredictable and varying as the weather, bright and fair one minute and dark and stormy the next.

Quickly she tied the ends and approached him. Hesitating only a moment, she leaned over and flung the wreath of linen around his shoulder. His breath tickled her cheek as she adjusted the sling's size and carefully rested his arm into it. The smell of tobacco and lemon wafted pleasantly into her nose. She backed into her chair, folding her hands across her lap and crossing her ankles. If not for the wild brilliance of her eyes, she appeared utterly tame and genteel.

Another heavy hush blanketed the room. Elizabeth's eyes roved over the familiar quaint parlor, baffled by the casual carelessness of this last hour. Darcy broke the stillness with a short, unexpected chuckle.

"I should have taken Sir Gregory up on his first offer."

"His first offer?"

"When I retrieved the letter he stole from you, he suggested we agree to be, in his own words, civilized about our competing interests in you and set aside a time and place to be completely barbaric about it." Elizabeth bit her lip and Darcy leaned over. "It's not as bad as it sounds, Elizabeth. He meant that we should box. While at university we engaged in the occasional spar, and as we are around the same height and build, it often happened that we were paired up against one another."

"You hit each other for sport?"

"It's a very…advantageous exercise for young men," he lightly replied, clearly amused by her chagrin.

Growing up without brothers, Elizabeth comprehended almost nothing about the goings-on of men behind closed doors. Her studious, sedate father certainly could offer her only spare insight into the puzzling rituals of the energetic, youthful members of the opposite sex. It struck her again how very little she actually knew about this man who now carried her heart, how a portion of her may never understand him, simply because he was male and she was not.

"I gather from your comment that you objected to his plans?"

"Yes, I declined his invitation, but I now regret it. I think if our heads had been cooler and the match had not been impromptu he might not have attacked my susceptible shoulder. But perhaps I am mistaken." Darcy fixed her with a bold gaze. "Sir Gregory does not know his limits, or his boundaries. There is a fine line after all between determination and ruthlessness."

"And an even finer one between ruthlessness and desperation," Elizabeth quietly added.

She lowered her head. Her breath choked her throat and strangled her tongue. From the veil of her lashes she saw Darcy scoot his chair closer. His hand touched hers.

"Is there something you wish to tell me Elizabeth?"

That edge, the raw, vibrant tremor, had returned to his voice. The bizarre easiness of his manners had disappeared. Her heart shuddered. His pain _did_ run much deeper than muscle or bone.

"Didn't the baronet already tell you?" she whispered.

His fingers began weaving in and over her knuckles. She could hear the rush of an invisible wind in her ears, feel the unreal tendrils breeze across her skin.

"I would like to hear it from you," he replied.

His voice sounded far away. And in her mind she cried out a solitary plea, "Why?"

"Elizabeth?" he softly asked.

She took a deep breath and turned her face up. His eyes held hers.

"Yes," she answered. "Yes, he kissed me."

A silent moment, and then Darcy retracted his hand and sat back. He licked his lips and opened his mouth several times before finally speaking, in an arrogant, almost harsh tone.

"Is that all the response I am to expect my lady?"

"What more do you wish to know? What possible good could come from it?"

In one swift motion Darcy stood and spun on his heel. He rested against the mantle, rapping his hand against the hearth and watching her. She tilted her chin up, hiding her wounded shock at his abrupt withdrawal.

"No good can come of any of this," he said. His entire face was guarded, hidden beneath layers of the dark tobacco salve and his own reserve. It was an odd mixture of dishevelment and the refinement. His tousled, debonair appearance reminded her of an actor in costume, playing the role of some great, exotic king. He waved his hand, emphasizing the theatricality of the scene.

"But that is not the material point, Elizabeth. Do you not think I deserve a greater explanation? Do you not think I deserve to hear you say that you love him?"

Elizabeth balked in disbelief. But he was not finished.

"Permit me to be perfectly frank. I do not know when we will have this much privacy again. For some time I have known you cared for Sir Gregory, but not up until yesterday when Colonel Fitzwilliam told you the truth about Lady Cynthia, and her husband, did I understand how profound your affections really were. Your tears on his behalf opened my eyes to that stark truth. I could hardly sleep last night, wondering if you had consented to marry me only because I, in a moment of passion, inadvertently stole not only a kiss or two from you, but your ability to refuse me. My actions were never meant to force you into matrimony. I came here this morning with the express design of offering you the opportunity to withdraw your acceptance."

He ran his hand through his hair, utterly devastated and distracted.

"Perhaps this confession is too much but if you had not been outside this morning, I would not have admitted to my aunt that we are even informally engaged. It was only when I saw you that I realized the reason behind Sir Gregory's goading. He knew you were there. A gambler to his black core, he wagered I would lie to my aunt, and his gamble paid off. I played right into his trap."

Darcy's voice had sunk to a low, bitter tone. He looked at Elizabeth, instead of through her, and a measure of stony reserve hardened his expression.

"I have lost count of how many times I must ask for your mercy. If you are disinclined to proceed with our understanding, madam, I will not hold you to your word. Clearly my aunt will not mind the dissolution of our tenuous agreement. You need not fear her wrath or her tongue. And I am sure she can frighten your cousin into remaining silent on the issue. Your reputation need not be at risk simply because I allowed my ardor to put it there."

Elizabeth stared at Darcy. After all the emotions that had ripped through her mind and body today—peace and comfort sifting through her fingers as sand, leaving nothing but the cold, hard stones of uncertainty—she refused to give in now. She was winded, emptied of sense and energy. But she was not done. She rose and moved toward Darcy, her expression beautifully bland.

"I cannot grant you what you ask."

Darcy started to say something but she rested her hand on his chest. His heart beat against her palm.

"Any of it, sir. I cannot tell you I love Sir Gregory. I cannot tell you I wish to withdraw my hand. I cannot show you mercy when there is no need for it. I love you."

As the words spilled from her mouth, she felt that corner of her heart that belonged to Sir Gregory crumble away. Darcy smiled, that bright, rare grin. Elizabeth blushed and looked down. She knew there were things he still needed to explain and things she still needed to understand but with the heat of his body seeping through his thin shirt and onto her hand, she cared not to discuss any of it right now. Not even for Jane's sake. Her mind was more agreeably engaged.

"Besides, Darcy, do you think I could marry another man after seeing you so informally attired?"

A giddy anticipation tickled across her skin. She glanced back up at him, a laugh on her lips. Underneath the grime and blood, she thought she glimpsed a faint blush on his cheeks. From the confusion in his eyes she could tell he did not know if she was being coy or chaste. Truthfully, neither did she.


	24. Chapter 24

Standing only inches apart, a blush on the lady's face and muck on the gentleman's, the two lovers enjoyed a quiet, almost reverential, moment of shared but unspoken joy; the certain, iridescent calm after the storm. With the shifting light of the passing clouds dancing across the room, Darcy at last formally asked for Elizabeth's hand, and she, taking in a deep breath, answered with a simple yes.

This time the proposal was pure, the reply absolute and the outcome predictable. And so, an engagement which had at one time been deemed impossible, only this morning been decried as ignoble, and a few minutes ago been diluted into a mere flirtation, became the thing which it had always actually been—inevitable.

The happy pair, however, was not left long to gaze into each other's eyes, before Mrs. Collins and her sister returned to the parsonage, effectively cutting off the lover's interlude, and even more effectively drenching the rug with the runoff from their sopping skirts. Hastily and not entirely composedly, Darcy bowed and swept out of the room upon the sodden, sudden entrance, leaving Elizabeth to explain to a very curious Charlotte and a very confused Mariah his appearance—both of his presence and his face.

Elizabeth started to give a reply but hesitated, sneaking a glance at Mariah. Charlotte noticed, and without another word shooed her younger sister away. Mariah scowled but was too miserably wet to argue. She dripped her way upstairs, and Charlotte immediately dripped her way to the chaise beside the blazing grate, where she wasted no time in kindly commanding Elizabeth to sit down and enlighten her. Sighing Elizabeth shuffled back to her chair, sat down and, lacking the wits and the wherewithal to navigate a partial retelling, confided in her friend.

Soon Elizabeth became lost in her words, experiencing a sweet release in unburdening herself of so many of those secrets pressing upon her heart. Part of her frankness came from the distant, though distinct, realization that Mr. Collins was already acutely aware of this morning's events, and his wife should be as equally well-informed. Part of it came from her guilt over neglecting Charlotte for the last fortnight. But most of Elizabeth's openness was sprung from her desperate need to share what she had felt and what she now felt. She told Charlotte of her recent admiration for the baronet, of her inner struggle over whom to love, and of her ultimate embracing of her natural affections for Darcy and her unmovable and declared intentions to marry him.

She talked and she talked, about the stolen letters and the overheard conversations, about the uncertainty and the misunderstandings, about the confessions and proposals, and finally about the heated words and heavy blows in the rainfall, ending with the departure of Sir Gregory and the diatribe of Lady Catherine. Elizabeth told all, all of her own secrets. The secrets of Sir Gregory, and his family, of Darcy and his family, remained securely tucked away in the corners of her tired mind. And through the long, winding recitation, Charlotte listened.

After several minutes, Elizabeth finished, her gaze on the grate and her eyes shimmering in the firelight. Her last words were an echo from her past, a laugh softened into a sigh.

"I suppose I didn't want a title, after all," she said, looking up at Charlotte. "Mr. Darcy is far richer than I knew, and in ways I never would have thought possible a month ago."

"You are fortunate, Lizzy," Charlotte said wryly, her fingers flicking droplets from the pleats of her dress. "Worldly wealth is not usually coupled with heavenly wealth."

"A truth that need only be defined by the exception, although I do not think Mr. Darcy would admit to being that exception."

At the smirk on Charlotte's face Elizabeth could not help but add, "Fie Charlotte! I see what you are thinking. Love won't blind me half as much as my own pride did. As dear as Mr. Darcy has become to me, he is not without fault."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows and Elizabeth laughed, enjoying the resurgence of good humor. She threw up her hands and cried out, "Or at least not with the same consequences. If I am blind to the faults of my future husband, so much the better. Someone much wiser than I once told me that happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If it all comes down to luck, then what advantage is there to seeing into the future?"

"I am hardly the one to ask," replied Charlotte, standing up and grinning down at her friend. "I applaud you Eliza. I always thought Mr. Darcy admired you, but to actually secure him, and in spite of such obstacles, is a real triumph."

"While I do not wholly agree with your choice of words, I cannot agree more that I am as mystified as anyone that we are engaged."

"Are you? Truthfully Lizzy I've had my suspicions about him ever since that party at my father's house when I asked you to play."

"Then you are more prescient than I am. And it seems you were not alone in your observations. Her ladyship seemed more enraged than surprised. I wonder if I am the only one who was oblivious to his attentions…"

Elizabeth's voice trailed off as a new recollection struck her, and Charlotte misinterpreted her faraway expression.

"Do not worry about Lady Catherine. Mr. Darcy will see to his aunt."

Elizabeth glanced up at her friend, amused once more. She shook her head, clearing the clouds from her eyes.

"Dear Charlotte. I am not thinking of his family. I am thinking of my own. What will my father say when he hears I am engaged to Mr. Darcy? I will have to eat my words, and as you know, I despise crow pie."

"I hardly think you'll have to do much recompense Eliza. You may care for Mr. Darcy's heart of gold but all the world, or your family, will care about is his pounds in gold."

"Charlotte, you are getting too clever with your words."

"And you are getting too careful with yours. I am pleased with your match and I know your family will be too. What's more, aside from her ladyship, I believe you will endure only an overflowing of mirth and congratulation from his other relations, his sister in particular."

Charlotte flashed another wry grin at Elizabeth and turned away from the hearth, taking leave of her friend and exiting the parlor. Elizabeth watched her go with a blank look in her bright eyes. At the mention of Georgiana, her mind had abandoned her childhood friend for her newfound friend and future sister in law.

"Poor Georgiana!" thought Elizabeth. She deserved better than to hear of her brother's engagement from the outraged grumblings of Lady Catherine. She deserved to learn of the felicitous news from a felicitous source. She deserved far more than that, Elizabeth decided. Georgiana deserved to know the truth, or as much as Elizabeth could give. She would be her sister, after all.

Elizabeth smiled at the thought. In these past few weeks Georgiana, with her sweet temper and timid ways, had carved herself a pretty place in Elizabeth's heart. The young Miss Darcy possessed a rare blend of shyness and elegance, openness and remoteness, that often reminded Elizabeth of Jane, and at times even herself. Perhaps too much like herself.

The smile faded from Elizabeth's lips as she realized that if her heart had been beguiled and beleaguered as it had been these last few weeks when she was just a girl of fifteen, it would not have withstood the assault. Her heart, nay her person, would have been just as injured as Georgiana was.

Something of beauty and resilience is lost with age, but something of steadiness and mettle is gained with it. Although Elizabeth was only a few years older than Georgiana, those tender years of girlhood to maidenhood were the years of refining fires and fuller's soap. And it was the experience that mirrored Georgiana's, whereas the temperament was so much more a mirror of Jane. Elizabeth wondered how much worse it would have been had Jane's heart, and not hers, been attacked at such a young age. Why her sister would be even more the injured party, even more the wounded victim.

A measure of that bliss from her understanding with the brother was lessened when Elizabeth considered the sister. She sunk back into her seat. It would not do for Georgiana and her to begin their sororial relationship on uneven footing, or mistaken understandings. Elizabeth wanted to help heal Georgiana, if she could, something whispering to her that such an act would make her whole again too. For she felt it still, that lingering hurt from seeing so much unpleasantness and experiencing so much deception.

Glancing out into the yard she trailed her gaze along the mess of mud, and even though she knew the fight between Sir Gregory and Darcy had scuffed the lawn on the other side of the house, she thought the entirety of the parsonage grounds appeared to have suffered the wrath not only of rain but of men. But the gloomy scene offered Elizabeth a grim solution. She sensed that the only thing that would truly remedy Georgiana's ails was Elizabeth's admission of her own short-comings and stumblings as she had hiked her proverbial journey toward love.

Elizabeth's wandering mind wandered back over to her sister, and her mood shifted once again. Elizabeth's path may have ended, her feet reaching their certain destination, but Jane's had not. Perhaps calling on Rosings and speaking with Georgiana would serve two purposes. It would provide the opportunity to convince Georgiana that she was not alone in behaving as a fool, or allowing her heart to be disarmed by a serpent's charm, and might just be the procrastinated occasion for Elizabeth to settle the matter with her betrothed about his interference of her sister's happiness.

Today had already been full of so much that she would wait until tomorrow to call. Lady Catherine would hopefully be more tolerable tomorrow morning than this evening, even if only by a hair.

Elizabeth sighed and nestled deeper into the cushions of her chair, the fire warming her as a blanket. Her thoughts at last turned back to her own happiness, a joy all the more appreciated because of the wretchedness that had preceded it. She remembered Darcy, how soft and sure he had sounded when he asked for her to consent to be his wife, and forgot about everyone and everything else.

When Charlotte came back downstairs, dressed and dry, she found Elizabeth asleep, with her lips curved into a smile.


	25. Chapter 25

The morning was damp and cool, the dew lifting into a hazy screen in the rising sun. Elizabeth stepped out into Mr. Collins' rose garden and breathed in the fresh scene and air. It had been too long since she had taken an early morning walk.

The stillness of the hour washed over her and she began to move along the garden path, humming a soft melody. She reached the gate, and started in surprise. Someone was already waiting for her on the other side.

"Georgiana," Elizabeth said, smiling in bewilderment. "What are you doing up so early, and so far from Rosings? It's barely after dawn."

Georgiana looked down, as bashful as she had been during her first conversation with Elizabeth. She twisted her fingers around each other and chewed on her lip, only briefly glancing up.

"I have taken to walking in the mornings. The world is so peaceful, so much at rest. It's really quite amazing."

"It is," Elizabeth replied, still more than baffled by this unexpected appearance. She touched her young friend's arm, drawing Georgiana's downcast eyes up. Elizabeth smiled reassuringly. "But why did you venture so far from the park? You must have risen before the sun, and I have it on good authority, namely your own, that you never wake up before ten o'clock, if you can help it."

Georgiana shrugged and mumbled some unintelligible admission. Before another sinking moment of awkwardness, Georgiana's deep blue eyes flitted over Elizabeth's shoulder, and she meekly asked if they might sit a moment on the nearby bench. Elizabeth nodded, and the two walked silently back into the garden.

Elizabeth waited and watched as Georgiana fidgeted beside her, shaking her dirty skirts and smearing some perspiration off her brow. At last she finished shifting and smoothing her dress, and placing her dainty hands into her lap, turned to Elizabeth.

"I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you found me so quickly, Elizabeth. I could hardly sleep a wink all last night, and hurried over here as soon as the morning sun touched my window." She paused. Her expression was guarded, yet hopeful. "It is true, isn't it? You are really engaged to my brother?"

Elizabeth blushed. "I am."

A wide grin split across Georgiana's face. Her cheeks colored and for an instant she looked on the verge of a spell. Elizabeth swiftly put an arm around her friend's back and gently squeezed her shoulder.

"We will be sisters, Georgiana. I hope you do not mind too much."

"Oh," Georgiana breathed, laughing and pressing her palms to her flushed cheeks. "Oh, I am so relieved."

Elizabeth scooted back on the bench.

"I was expecting something less equivocal than mere relief, but I will take what I can get."

Georgiana's eyes flared in embarrassment.

"Do not mistake me Elizabeth. Surely you know I am beyond words to tell you how happy I am. And you are probably teasing, but I would not have you be mistaken about this—not for the world." She grabbed Elizabeth's hands, as she had so often done when confiding her heart's secrets. "I could not ask for a better brother, and now I shall not be able to ask for a better sister. Fitzwilliam is the luckiest man, and I shall be the luckiest girl in the world."

"Why Georgiana you are happier than even me. I'm almost ashamed." Georgiana made a face and Elizabeth shook her head, laughing. "I'm only joking."

"Oh, of course," Georgiana said. "I must become more accustomed to your teasing, but I suppose I will have time enough when we are all at home. I cannot wait for you to see Pemberley."

"Nor me. I expect great things, and for once, I believe I will not be disappointed." Elizabeth looked toward Rosings. She could just see the tops of the chimneys. "Does it at all resemble the great house of de Bourgh?"

"No. Lady Catherine's tastes are as dissimilar to Fitzwilliam's as are her opinions."

Georgiana pressed her lips together and scowled. Elizabeth hesitated on whether it would be best to change the subject or take up the topic so as to be done with it as soon as possible, but Georgiana beat her to the quick.

"I never believed there could be such a gap in feeling amongst one family as exists between my aunt and my brother. Lady Catherine did not cease to voice her objections until late last night. And I am such a ninny. I hid in my room. It was dreadful. I can only imagine what it must have been like to not only hear it, but to see it. Oh, Elizabeth! Fitzwilliam told me what she said to your own face yesterday morning. How did you bear it? Her ladyship's anger is no trifling matter. Are you quite well? I was sure she would dissuade you from marrying into our family."

Georgiana's entire body quivered and she looked on the verge of tears again. Elizabeth sighed and assured her friend that as fearsome as Lady Catherine could be, no amount of bullying was going to broker her into any other outcome than marrying the man the she loved.

"Really Georgiana," she insisted. "I hardly remembered Lady Catherine after she was gone. To own the truth, if I thought of anyone, apart from your brother, it was you."

"Me?"

"You."

"But why?"

Elizabeth pursed her mouth, trying to recall how she had wanted to begin and just what she had wanted to say. Her eyes alighted on one of the budding rose bushes in Mr. Collins' garden, and an idea blossomed.

"Do you see that rose bush over there?" Elizabeth pointed to a particularly lush bush. Most of the buds had already broken, the petals folding out over one another, spirals of velveteen colors and silky textures. The roses were lovely, but she was not thinking of the flowers.

"Roses are my favorite," she mused, facing Georgiana. "They are possibly the most extraordinary flower. None is exactly alike, but each is somehow as beautiful as the next. And yet, out of all the plants I pass by while I am walking about, I am wariest of the rose bush. I must always be on my guard when I brush alongside one, and if I do dare to smell one up close, I lean in with the greatest of care. I wonder sometimes, Georgiana. Do you think roses are considered the loveliest flowers because they are the most dangerous? Would a rose be a rose, if not for the thorns?"

Georgiana's elegant brow rumpled. "I am no philosopher. I don't know what answer you wish to hear."

"No, and it is far too early, really, to be philosophizing. No one can be expected to pontificate before breakfast. But, still, I wonder." She trailed her gaze back to the rose bush. "I think life is somewhat like a rose bush. It requires care. It requires courage. If we want what is lovely and good and true, we must be willing to, forgive the metaphor if is wearing on you, but we must be willing to prick our fingers every now and again. Whether by accident or design, it is inevitable that we will touch thorns as we reach for the roses."

"Is this meant for me Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth blew out her breath and picked up Georgiana's limp hand.

"Georgiana, I want you to know that you are not alone in making one or two poor—"

"Disastrous."

Elizabeth smiled softly. "Disastrous choices. I have made too many mistakes to number since I came into Kent. I judged your brother too harshly. I judged Sir Gregory too gently. I allowed myself to forget that things are not always what they seem, nor are people, and that when we rush to judgment we tend to trip over our own feet. I say we, but I should say, I. _I_ made a fool of myself because I became so focused on what I wanted to see in others, I couldn't see what was really there."

Georgiana thought for a minute, and said, her voice almost a whisper, "You called the roses thorns, and the thorns roses."

"A name by any other…" Elizabeth wistfully replied.

They shared a silent moment, a moment filled with unspoken secrets and bittersweet memories. Elizabeth had planned on saying more, but in the calm of the morning and the freshness of the day, it no longer seemed necessary. She could already perceive the hurt fading from her friend's young face, as well as from her own heart. She knew that as sisters they would be able to continue to strengthen each other's feeble knees should they threaten to buckle from the unforeseeable, but certain, burdens of life.

Suddenly Elizabeth stood up, breaking the tender moment. A bird flew overhead and she raised her eyes to the sky. It was bright and clear, with wisps of pastel clouds slipping lazily by the rising sun. At the sight, a great weight lifted up from her shoulders. And, for the first time in a while, she felt like it was a new dawn.

"It's a beautiful day," she said, inhaling the fragrant air. Something caught her attention and she glanced to the side. An impish smile stole across her lips and she looked down at Georgiana.

"Come on, why don't we try and catch your brother before Lady Catherine does?"

Georgiana's eyes sparked with amusement, and a little bit of alarm.

"I realize that engaged couples never enjoy being apart, but do you wish to go to Rosings so early? Although my aunt is very likely asleep, it is equally likely that Fitzwilliam is too."

"Is it?" Elizabeth slyly asked. "Because if you turn around, I think you may change your mind."

Frowning, Georgiana twisted on the bench. Immediately her confusion melted away into an expression of happy surprise. She smiled. Elizabeth laughed. And Darcy, walking with his usual purpose, entered through the garden gate and bowed.


	26. Chapter 26

Not for the first time this morning, Elizabeth was struck with the memory of her introductory meeting with Darcy and Georgiana almost a month ago. It had been awkward and unexpected, pushed upon her by an eager Mr. Collins, her flustered frustration hidden and mingled with honest amusement. The memory came to her, with the clarity of a song, and it seemed so strange to her now, now as she inwardly burst with bliss at Darcy's approach. Soft flutters beat against her abdomen, the light prickles matching the flush spreading over her cheeks. Overcome, she looked down.

She had never believed in the poets' exclamations of romance, winking and laughing at those sonnets of a love so overwhelming it bled out of the heart and pooled in every inch of a person's body. And yet, with nothing more than a bow and a look, Darcy had rendered her speechless, breathless, bloodless. She could barely lift her gaze when he stopped only a foot away from her.

He did not immediately speak and Elizabeth wondered—hoped—he was tormented with the same sweet pain which bound her tongue. Curiously she watched him. He stared back at her, his eyes full of that intensity so peculiar to him, before turning to his sister.

"Georgiana," he heavily began, "if I had not happened upon you the other week at this hour, I would have thought I saw a ghost walking about Rosings bearing your exact countenance this morning."

"A ghost?" asked his sister innocently. "That would be quite the conversion, since you have always told me they are nothing more than silly superstitions."

He smiled briefly, almost sadly, and cast his eye back onto Elizabeth. She blushed deeper, but managed to keep her head up. His voice was thick.

"I find myself unopposed to conversions, especially those of the heart." Slowly he reached down and took Elizabeth's hand, his gaze unwavering from her own. The air around them distilled into liquid and warmth drenched the nascent day. "You are lovely in the morning light, Elizabeth, just as I always imagined."

"Thank you," she muttered.

He bent over and touched his lips to her skin. The heat from his feathery kiss raced up from her arm and spread over her skin. For a moment she forgot where she was and why she was there. She saw Darcy, and Darcy alone. A quiet chaos sharpened his features. And then, he stood back, unbinding that spell of poetic clichés. Georgiana spoke and it completely dissolved away. She was Elizabeth again.

"I…I…fancy a stroll over by Mr. Collins' lovely hyacinth plant. It is remarkable how large he has managed to cultivate it."

"He has a gift with perennials," Darcy banally offered.

"Yes, Charlotte encourages him to spend as much time in his garden as he can," Elizabeth agreed, stifling a grin at Georgiana's embarrassment. The amusement helped her feel more at ease. And somehow the humor relieved her, a very little, of her own bashfulness.

"It is a vast improvement since I was last here," said Georgiana, recovering a touch.

"When was that?"

"Almost three years ago." Georgiana gazed back toward the hyacinth. Her chestnut hair caught the sunlight and warmed into a gilded bronze. "A great many things have changed, especially this garden. I wonder what else Mr. Collins has succeeded in growing."

"Why don't we explore it together?" Darcy suggested, surprising both Elizabeth and Georgiana.

"That is not necessary."

"I would rather you stay here," he replied somewhat cryptically to his sister.

"Here? But I'm only going to be a few yards over there."

"Yes, but even that distance would materially lessen your effectiveness in aiding me in my conversation with Elizabeth."

Georgiana squinted suspiciously at her brother. Perplexed though Elizabeth was also, with the heat cooling from her vision and blood, she found it much easier to recollect the unpleasant discussion she must hold with him, and that a potential disagreement between them would undoubtedly be more comfortable without the presence of Georgiana.

Still in a tone tinged with confusion, she teased, "Have we not improved since our debates at Netherfield? I promise not to broach the topic of hypotheticals or the qualities of an accomplished lady."

Darcy smiled at her retort. "I always enjoyed our debates. Forswear not those, if you must foreswear anything."

"Certainly, if that is your wish, I will happily vex you and laugh at you for as long as you may endure it."

"I am not afraid of you."

"Nor should you be."

"I hear the 'yet' you have yet to speak." Darcy's eyes darkened with mirth, and something more. "And I await it with baited breath."

"When you wait with unbaited breath, then shall you hear my reply. There is nothing worse than falling short of expectations."

"Now I'm certain you are toying with me. For you must know that you have only ever exceeded mine."

Elizabeth's cheeks flared once more with a pretty crimson.

"You were saying you needed my assistance, Fitzwilliam?" asked Georgiana, nervously slipping in her question. "I am happy to help you but I don't see how I can be of any service. You are conversing perfectly without me."

Darcy's mild grin mellowed into a straight line, his air instantly transforming into one of business. He dragged his eyes away from Elizabeth.

"Yes, that is because I am diverting myself from my object in seeking you—both of you—out this morning."

"What is it Fitzwilliam?"

"It is nothing to worry you, Georgiana, although it does involve you." He glanced down for a moment. Elizabeth thought he must be choosing his words, knowing how careful he could be in selecting them. But she was wrong. When he raised his head, his expression had hardened into stone. "It cannot be wholly unanticipated given yesterday's events, but I will not stay one more day in Kent. Nor do I think it prudent to abandon my future wife within reach of a person so resolved on interfering with and injuring her. I have already instructed my man and Georgiana's maid to prepare for our imminent if not immediate departure."

At last he looked back at Elizabeth.

"I know this is sudden and I apologize for the haste, but my aunt's disrespect necessitates it. I hope you will not object. The colonel would not even stay that long. He is already gone, I imagine."

Throughout his entire speech, Elizabeth had only one thought playing in her mind, a slight variation here or there, but essentially the same thought: to do whatever would remove that scowl from Darcy's face.

She smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes. "Name the hour and I shall follow you anywhere, Fitzwilliam."

It was the first time Elizabeth had called him by his first name, and there was an intimacy that swiftly surged up around them. Unknowingly Elizabeth leaned nearer to him, eager to feel more of that tender closeness. Darcy's hot anger quickly melted into a different sort of heat.

"I thought you would not be so easily engaged."

Willing her mind to focus, Elizabeth inhaled and dutifully smirked. "I cannot imagine why."

They both laughed. The sound fractured the pleasant tension, and even Georgiana joined her soft giggle with their louder laughs, after a moment of hesitation.

With a laugh lingering on her lips, Elizabeth playfully said, "Is that all you wanted to ask me? Am I such a great brute that you needed Georgiana to pull at my heartstrings?"

Darcy glanced briefly down at her mouth, a simmer of longing in his eyes that Elizabeth did not understand, but for which she instantly wanted to experience. She sucked the air in through her teeth and Darcy cleared his throat, a gruff, earthy sound.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth. My thoughts are straying today. To answer your question, regardless of its sincerity, I wanted Georgiana in case you seemed reluctant. I know you are planning on leaving Kent in little less than a fortnight with Miss Lucas, and I assumed you might think the early departure unnecessary."

Caught up in other distractions, Elizabeth had forgotten about Mariah. Her sudden realization must have shown, for Darcy quickly added, "And I needed Georgiana nearby to inform her that Susie—her maid—has agreed to stay on at Rosings and act as a travel companion to Miss Lucas. Once we are in London, I can send Miss Lucas my carriage, or hire a private cab." He turned to his sister. "I hope that does not inconvenience you too much. I know she is a favorite of yours."

"Not at all…that is to say, not much. She is a favorite. But Lucy at the house will do."

"You are thorough Fitzwilliam" mused Elizabeth, shaking her head. His name rolled deliciously around her mouth.

"Always," he smiled and shrugged.

Suddenly, Georgiana bit her lip over a charming grin and grasped Elizabeth's arm. "You will stay with us a day or two in London, won't you? There would be nothing amiss about it. Not with me there and your family not expecting you until another two weeks."

"I…I do not know," Elizabeth stammered, her mind immediately returned to Jane. "My uncle is there, and my sister with him. If at all possible, I believe I ought to stay with them for the short time I remain in town."

"Your sister is in London? How delightful. I should dearly love to make her acquaintance. Is she your elder sister or one of your younger sisters?"

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy. He flicked invisible dirt off his sleeve and would not meet her gaze. A string of annoyance wrapped around her heart. Georgiana tugged at her, all giddy and sincere.

"Do you think your sister and I might be friends?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said. "It is my sister Jane, my elder sister. She is a friend to all, even the most undeserving."

"Do you think I am undeserving?"

The fear in Georgiana's voice made Elizabeth smile in spite of her sinking mood. She noticed Darcy had taken to observing the shrubbery with pointed interested.

"I think Jane and you are equally deserving of becoming good friends. Your temperaments demand it. You are both much sweeter than any woman has a right to be—with the dispositions and faces of angels."

Georgiana's eyes glazed as an errant thought washed over her expression.

"Are you alright Georgiana?"

"Yes, it's just curious." She blinked in wonder and called to her brother. "Fitzwilliam, do you remember Bingley using almost that exact phrase when he spoke about some woman he had fallen for in Hertfordshire?"

Darcy stiffened but his voice was smooth when he replied, "No, are you sure it was Bingley?"

"Quite sure. It was just after Christmas, but now that I think of it, I believe you had left the room for some reason. Bingley looked so distraught, that as shy as I am, I had to ask him if something was the matter. I remember his answer so clearly because Caroline was very displeased by it, and very vocal about her displeasure."

That string of annoyance in Elizabeth's chest doubled into thick, prickly rope. Her breath was speeding up, and not from rapturous joy. It was the same exhilaration she would feel when as a young girl she would play tag with the boys and outrun them all. It was the dark thrill of a hunt.

Oblivious, Georgiana sighed. "I really am a goose. I shall be happy to meet your angelic sister, Elizabeth, and any other angels from Hertfordshire if they are a friend to you." She turned to Darcy as harmless as ignorance ever is. "Perhaps you might ask Elizabeth who the other angels from her village are Fitzwilliam. I'm sure Bingley would be interested in seeking out his lost—"

"It is Jane Bennet, Georgiana," Darcy interrupted, flicking his eye at Elizabeth. His pale face plead with her to understand and forgive. She lifted her brows, neither accepting nor denying his silent entreaty; however, his wordless compunction succeeded in one thing—it unraveled most of that aggravation coiling around her heart. Her lungs slowed and a melancholy smile lurked at the corners of her mouth. Charlotte had been right yesterday: Darcy's faults faded into trifling peccadilloes against the backdrop of their love. It was irksome, and even in her irritation, endearing.

Georgiana had watched their muted exchange and asked, her hand hovering nervously in the air, " _What_ is Jane Bennet Fitzwilliam?"

Darcy blew out his breath, and in a gesture of unease, combed his fingers through his hair. "Bingley's lost love is Miss Jane Bennet—Elizabeth's elder sister."

"Oh," Georgiana gasped. "Oh. But…but how can that be? Caroline was so cruel and disapproving. From the way she spoke, I believed the woman in question was a shopkeeper's wife, or the daughter of a farmer, or…or anyone but Elizabeth's sister. Caroline told me that she separated her brother from this lady, and now you tell me that lady was—is—Elizabeth's sister? Are you certain—"

"Yes, more so than the day is long," Darcy said, cutting another sober glance at Elizabeth.

Georgiana darted her wide eyes frantically from Darcy to Elizabeth, shock trembling into disgust, and back into shock.

"Caroline has her airs, but I never imagined she would be as bad as this implies. Elizabeth, how odious! I know Bingley feels it, at least as recent as the holidays, but my heart would be lighter if I knew your sister does not share his regrets."

Elizabeth started to speak, searching for utterance that would convey the truth without the sting. Her search proved useless—her reply was etched plainly in her face. Georgiana's hand flew over mouth.

"Poor Bingley! Poor Miss Bennet!"

"They are not the first to suffer interference," Elizabeth lamely offered. Her anger had not completely abandoned her. "And they won't be the last."

"True, but what sister would do that to a brother? And, and now I see. I always knew Elizabeth that you were the one Fitzwilliam wrote about while he was at Netherfield—he mentioned you by name, a rarity, if not a singularity. But I have only just realized that it was your sister Jane who was ill. I never thought to combine the two letters."

"What letters?" asked Elizabeth.

"The letter from Caroline, which I received in the post with my brother's letter about you. She wrote of nothing of importance, only that her friend had come to visit for an afternoon and had fallen sick, the consequence being that her stay of only a few hours was extended into a few days. That was your sister! Caroline called her a friend? What events transpired to turn her against not only her brother, but her friend?" Georgiana whipped her head toward Darcy. "Did you know nothing of—what I can only call—her treachery, Fitzwilliam?"

Darcy's proud face bled of color. "Yes, Georgiana, I knew."

"You knew? Then what stopped you from using your influence with Bingley to halt Caroline's designs?"

Darcy hesitated and cleared his throat. The sound was very different from when he had done so only minutes before. It echoed dully into the still morning. "I did use my influence with Bingley. I used it to accelerate Caroline's designs."

Georgiana balked. "What? No…No…You…"

"I was thinking of Bingley," Darcy explained. "I misinterpreted Miss Bennet's depth of feeling, her genuineness in seeking after a suitor well above her station—"

"Above her station? How can you say that Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana looked at Elizabeth. "Did you know about his involvement?"

Elizabeth nodded, her tongue tied from the anguish in Georgiana's face.

"I was misguided, Georgie," Darcy said, drawing his sister's attention back to him. "I have already apologized to Elizabeth, and I intended on reaffirming my offer to undo the heartaches I mistakenly—"

"Mistakenly?"

"Yes, mistakenly. I meant no harm. I will determine whether Bingley still harbors feelings for Elizabeth's sister when I tell him of my engagement. I do recognize the apparent hypocrisy in this present situation, but I will not belabor the point. To do so, would be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? No more ridiculous, no more hypocritical than what your inference was last autumn. You already cared for Elizabeth, before you left Hertfordshire. And now, how can you even talk of stations? Do you realize who you sound like? Is not Lady Catherine the reason we are leaving without a single farewell? I...I…I don't know who you are, Fitzwilliam."

Clear beads rimmed the edges of Georgiana's eyes as she stumbled, with her words and her feet, failing to comprehend how the brother she had always worshiped was just a mortal man. Elizabeth saw all of this, an unwitting, involved spectator to the dreadful scene, and moved to comfort her friend, her own regret swallowed up in the untendered exclamations of Georgiana. But Darcy reached his sister first.

"There, there Georgie," he hushed, folding her into his chest. "You are right. But I am not Caroline Bingley nor Aunt Catherine. I am repentant. It will all be well. How can you say you don't know me?"

His gaze slid over Georgiana's bowed head to Elizabeth. And in that instant, it was there again—that crippling liberation, the break between body and soul sealed by another's touch and look and mind—her love for him. Elizabeth exhaled; the breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding back rushing out in a long sigh. For a weightless moment Darcy studied her face. Elizabeth knew he spoke to her, as much as to Georgiana, when he said:

"You know me. I am as I always was—only a better man than before."

~0~0~

Elizabeth had been wrong. Darcy was not thorough. He was meticulously thorough, fastidiously precise; a strange machine from the great minds of the Renaissance, reborn and rechristened as Fitzwilliam Darcy, gentleman landowner.

After his avowal to do all in his power to rebuild the bridge he had with his own hands burned between Jane and Bingley, Georgiana begging him to spare no expense or humiliation, he had walked Elizabeth to the parsonage's back door and kissed her on her hand, her wrist and her palm, sending more frissons of unnamed need into her core, and then accompanied his sister back to Rosings. His declared goal was to leave before Lady Catherine rose for the day. To their good fortune, her hoary-headed ladyship rarely budged out of bed before late morning.

During the flurry of packing and bustle of breakfast, Elizabeth stood by, fascinated by the expeditiousness of Darcy's servants and the effectiveness of his commands. Her trunks were loaded onto his carriage before Mr. Collins' toast had been buttered, or Mrs. Collins' tea had been steeped. Mr. Collins barely replied to Elizabeth's morning salutation and explanation, and she disinterestedly wondered if her ladyship had commanded her rector to shun his cousin. Whatever the reason, Elizabeth found she could tolerate Mr. Collins' rudeness with an inordinate amount of fortitude. Fortunately, she did not find the same neglectful attendance from his wife. Chagrined to learn of her friend's rushed departure, Charlotte had nevertheless hastened her hands and the hands of her housekeeper to further its completion, while the tea water boiled to a steam.

"I'm surprised, Charlotte, but I think the roads will actually be dry, despite yesterday's rains," Elizabeth said, tying up the ribbon underneath her chin and fixing straight her bonnet.

The two women stood in the vestibule, the door yawning open and shut as a light breeze drifted into the house. Elizabeth could see Darcy looming over his driver, who was checking one of the horse's shoes and would have probably already finished the task, if not for his master's satirical eye. Elizabeth grinned and wrinkled her nose, turning to her friend.

"I'm sorry to be leaving you like this."

"I'm not," laughed Charlotte.

"So eager to part with house guests?"

Charlotte pursed her lips, an expression Elizabeth had come to realize presaged a witty remark.

"There isn't a chance you'll keep your breath to cool your porridge?"

"You should be so lucky," said Charlotte. "Of course I'll miss you Eliza, but how can I mourn your parting? You are leaving me better off than when you arrived, an invaluable friend to cheer you on the road, and a wealthy suitor to pave the road."

It was on the tip of Elizabeth's tongue to respond with a flippant retort of her own, but at that moment, Darcy happened to glance up and smile, and Georgiana, fanning herself in the cab, happened to wave at her from the window. Sweeter sentiments whisked the mockery away, and with a bright gleam in her eye, Elizabeth said, "I should be so lucky? I am lucky."

She kissed Charlotte on the cheek, and smiling, stepped out into the sun. The scent of roses floated on the gentle wind.


	27. Epilogue

Epilogue

The curtain draped down for intermission and a collective murmur rose up from the audience. From her balcony view, Elizabeth watched the shadowy masses stand and stretch, indistinct figures breaking off from the whole and pushing through the doors, pouring light into the dark room. Stage workers bustled in from hidden entrances and stealthily scattered toward the dimmed kerosene lamps, their fast fingers and feet soon dousing the entire theater in an orange glow.

"Would you care to step out into the foyer for fresher air? It is uncommonly warm this summer."

Elizabeth turned toward the voice. Darcy's face was only an inch away from hers, his breath splashing pleasantly onto her neck. Pearls of perspiration gathered around his hair and along his jaw. She ran her eyes down his thick evening jacket and long trousers.

"I sometimes wonder why men ever stopped wearing dresses," she whispered, smirking. "Do you think the current popularity of Greek thought will spark a resurgence of their sense of fashion? You never see Socrates depicted in anything but a very breezy toga."

Darcy leaned back and laughed. The novelty of the sound drew some interested looks from those in a nearby box, and a question from their own.

"What's so funny Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana asked, rolling the end of her glove up and over her elbow. Her pretty head was bowed and her shoulders were curved, her sulking pose a stark contrast to the giggling girl who had begged to attend the play.

"Nothing, Elizabeth's only trying to shock me."

"And did she?"

"Quite."

Georgiana stopped fiddling with her glove and beamed. "Now I must know what she said."

Darcy crossed his arms, reluctant, and Georgiana frowned.

"Elizabeth will tell me," she moped. "I am sure of it."

It was Darcy's turn to frown. Elizabeth shifted in her chair, pretending to search the crowd for familiar faces. She doubted she would see any, but she did not want to be thrust into the center of a spat.

Over the past couple months, hot, quick fights had been cropping up between the two siblings. Darcy, caught somewhere in the middle of playing the role of a father and acting the part of a brother, had at first shrugged at his sister's sudden and seemingly unprovoked outbursts, treating her with the same, impersonal wonder he would have shown a young child throwing a tantrum, but as Georgiana's barbed behavior had escalated in frequency and vehemence, his cool had gradually worn paper thin. And with one sharp sigh, she could spike his irritation.

Darcy had written Elizabeth of Georgiana's unwelcome transformation, his letters lengthening with multisyllabic words about his frustration and monosyllabic wishes for them to end, but this was the first time Elizabeth had actually witnessed what she had hitherto only read. And she desperately wished it had remained firmly in print. Otherwise, her happy reunion with the Darcys might be rendered bittersweet. For, apart from the two days following the rushed departure from Kent, Elizabeth had passed the last two months at home—enduring the raptures of her mother, relishing the dwindling hours with her father, ignoring the silliness of her three younger sisters, and for the most part, sharing in and enjoying the happiness of Jane.

Bingley had proved as expeditious in reclaiming Jane's affections and hand as Darcy was in packing up and deserting an undesirable place. Elizabeth had hardly needed to lift a brow, let alone a finger, to compel Darcy to right his wrong; Georgiana had apparently taken the officiousness of her brother as a personal affront, a smear on the Darcy name, and had cajoled and complained to him the entire carriage ride from Rosings. His sister's insistence had been so relentless that he had made the overdue confession the very night of their arrival.

Impetuous and enamored, Bingley had traveled with Darcy, Georgiana, and the two Bennet sisters on their way back to Longbourn, and having already proposed to and been accepted by Jane, had sought to claim the blessing of the father without delay. He had even beaten Darcy to the quick—winning the coin toss and the privilege to ask first. Bingley was lodged back at his shut-up Netherfield before the sheets had been cleared away from the furniture and the rooms had been cleaned, molding himself into a common fixture at Longbourn and slowly carving a well-worn path between the neighboring houses, spending as much time as possible with his betrothed.

Elizabeth and Darcy had not been so fortunate. Stacks of letters and mounds of estate business had demanded Darcy return to Pemberley soon after the announcement of their engagement, and Georgiana had gone with him, declaring a yearning to see home. The separation for the couple should have been short-lived, a blip on the expanse of their future. Yet the one month journey had stretched into two. Long letters and tender thoughts had spun away the days apart, strands to hold onto when nothing else could be found.

At last, at long last, yesterday afternoon Elizabeth had traveled from Longbourn to London to be fitted for her wedding trousseau, and as an additional boon, would be staying on at the Darcy town residence for a fortnight. Tonight was her first evening out amongst the ton and town as an engaged woman. With a new gown wrapped around her figure and the meretricious excitement of the crowded theater lighting up her face, she felt alive, tingling with confidence and love.

In this glow, she would rather the distinction of this night come from her merit, than Georgiana's malice. But she could hear the two Darcys still arguing in low, clipped tones. It was unnerving and shocking. She peeked at them from the corner of her eye.

"Georgiana we are not going home early. Elizabeth is clearly enjoying the play, and if that were not enough, it was at your request that we chose this theater, instead of the symphony. I cannot understand your fickleness—it is unbecoming."

"I am not asking for you or Elizabeth to leave with me. There is ample time for the carriage to take me home and return to pick you up."

"Are you really suggesting that I permit you to travel at night—alone—just to satisfy your whim? The very idea is unconscionable."

Georgiana drew in a loud breath and averted her face from her brother. "You are determined to keep me here?"

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, exasperation marring his handsome face, and looked back at his sister. "I am determined to keep you safe."

"Very well. We will have it your way." She dropped her voice. "We always do."

Elizabeth noticed the tight clench in Darcy's jaw and the white of his knuckles. She reached a careful hand out to touch his arm. He flinched, but instantly relaxed when he realized whose caress it was. He smiled with his lips and folded his hand over hers, gently squeezing her fingers and seeking peace in her gaze.

"Perhaps you could benefit from a walk around the foyer?" she suggested. "I am perfectly content to stay here. Georgiana will keep me company."

He studied her face for a moment, and sighing loudly, nodded.

"Thank you," he said quietly, brushing his lips along her ear as he rose. "I hope she'll listen to you."

He bowed and spun on his heel, buttoning his jacket and stepping out of the box. The din from the packed foyer blared loudly for a moment as the divider opened and closed. Georgiana sat motionless, her cheek still turned away and her eyes lazily scanning the clusters of theater guests.

Elizabeth waited but a few seconds before standing up and walking over to her. She blinked up at the arched ceiling, saying a silent prayer, and bent down. Georgiana looked at her with eyes brimming in an unknown sea of pain.

"Georgiana won't you tell me what ails you? Am I no longer your confidant?"

"Of course I want to tell you everything, Elizabeth," she cried. "You're my dearest friend."

"Am I? Your letters told me nothing of your troubles with your brother. Do you think because he will be my husband I will forget my friends—my sisters?"

"No, I don't think you'll forget me, or have forgotten me. I just think…I just think you will side with Fitzwilliam."

"How can I choose a side? I have only heard his side of the story."

Georgiana opened her mouth and then clamped it shut and shook her head. "I am sorry for ruining your night out, Elizabeth. I do love this play, and the Rosalind in this troupe is divine."

"That she is," agreed Elizabeth, standing up. "But that is not what you were going to say, Georgiana. Please tell me. You have not ruined this evening, but I hate to see you so downcast. Won't you tell me the cause of your despair?"

Georgiana heaved in a great, ragged breath. Her voice was very small when she spoke. Elizabeth had to crouch down again to hear it. Georgiana's words bubbled out in a rushed cascade of sound.

"I do not mean to be short with Fitzwilliam, but he aggravates me so. You say you will not choose his side, but people are always choosing his side. He can go and do as he pleases, breaking off lovers, spurning the family of the woman he loves, and betraying his best friend, without recourse or regret. I thought…I thought I would feel better about it all when he told Bingley about his deception, but I didn't. Somehow, when we returned home to Pemberley and I was away from your easy laugh, it just wasn't right. Why should Fitzwilliam get everything and everyone he desires? Why does he succeed where others fail?" Georgiana paused, her mouth quivering. "Why mustn't he pay for his sins?"

Elizabeth saw that lingering heartbreak in Georgiana's crumpled face, in her broken voice. She would have taken it all away if she could have, but knew that the trust Darcy had unwittingly crushed in his sister's devotion had been as fragile as porcelain, and like porcelain, could not be so easily repaired. It could only be replaced, bit by bit and day by day.

She cupped her palm to Georgiana's cheek and said, "Don't you see? Your brother is paying for his sins. He has lost your trust. And what's more, I don't think he even knows it. You need to talk with him as one rational creature to another, and not when you are angry or feeling particularly injured by him. That is the only way that I came to understand him, and he understand me."

Georgiana did not reply, instead she stared silently over Elizabeth's shoulder and out across the room again. Elizabeth's hand fell to her side. She stood and slipped back into her seat.

She couldn't explain why, but she sensed that Georgiana had not confided all to her. That nagging sensation was reminiscent of her former days with Georgiana, when all the truth about Wickham and Mr. Crolls had lurked behind her mild composure. Fixing her eyes on her friend, Elizabeth tried to read the full story. The soft brilliance of the lamps dusted Georgiana in an ephemeral light. The halo effect made her expression inscrutable, innocently mysterious; a girl who knew too much of the world, and a vast deal too little, and yet, for all her youth, a girl who kept a thousand secrets.

Elizabeth noticed a slight change in Georgiana's expression, a flicker of excitement that she swiftly disguised. Only, within a breath, Georgiana's agitation visibly grew again: the stillness of her hands, the tapping of her feet, the arching of her spine. She licked her lips, swaying toward the balcony and curious, Elizabeth craned her neck up, attempting to follow Georgiana's line of sight.

Elizabeth dipped her head up and down, bobbing over this face and that face. And then she saw him. He must have just arrived. The wind blew out of Elizabeth's lungs.

Sir Gregory was dapper and grinning, dressed immaculately and oozing out the same insouciant elegance onto all those within his reach. She darted her eyes back and forth between Georgiana and him. A sickening weight thudded into her stomach. Georgiana hadn't just lost her trust in her brother; she had found someone else to trust.

Elizabeth wanted to say something, to stomp her feet and scream, but the lights started to go down and Darcy strode into the box. Georgiana had the sense to slink back into her chair and nod at her brother. Elizabeth closed her eyes, commanding her pulse to slow, and bravely smiled back at him, hoping he did not perceive the strain, grateful that he seemed as disinclined to talk as she was—the benefits of loving a taciturn man.

From her distant, useless perch, Elizabeth glared as Sir Gregory weaved toward the exit. She balled her fingers and cursed herself for not already telling Georgiana the unchecked and sordid truth.

The baronet abruptly stopped at the door and looked behind him. Elizabeth tensed. The room was nearly pitched back into complete darkness, the bright colors of the throng dimmed into grey, but his crystal eyes glittered in her direction and she knew he recognized her. She saw his outline tip his hat and he disappeared into the garish brightness of the foyer.

The curtains lifted and the audience hushed. Elizabeth sank back into her chair, counting the rhythm of Darcy's breath against the pounding of her heart. She turned to Georgiana, and said in a forceful whisper, "No."

Georgiana feigned surprise, and then slowly slunk down into a melancholic pose. Elizabeth repeated, "No, my dear. We have had enough thorns for one lifetime." She turned to Darcy, wearing a winning smile, and knew that rosier days were on the horizon.


End file.
